Bloodline
by trueunbeliever
Summary: What if the family from the CM episode "Bloodline" was actually the Winchesters? John Winchester and his boys travel the country saving people, hunting things, the family business. When John kidnaps ten-year-old Cate to continue a long-held family tradition, the BAU is put on the case to find the missing girl. COMPLETE. Please Review :) All comments are welcome.
1. A Bad Day

_Hey, Fearless Readers! Laura Foster here. I'm posting this story from my account at AO3, editing along the way. Reviews are my crack. Please support my habit :) _

_This fic takes place pre-cannon to Supernatural and during s4e13 for Criminal Minds. I'm not a fan of SSA Jordan Todd (who replaced JJ while on maternity leave in this episode) so JJ's back for this fic. Loosely based on the CM episode "Bloodline." I own nothing, ever. I was even considering tattooing "Property of US Government" on my forehead for good measure. Luckily, I was talked out of it. Read on!_

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John Winchester was having a bad day. Strike that. Being a Winchester, most of his days were bad days. He was having a _very_ bad day.

His eldest son, Dean, sat to his left, the youngest, Sam, to his right, on the small armchair in the much too cramped RV. The space was not what bothered him. He and his boys had been on the road their entire lives, traveling the country, living off the land when they could. No, what bothered him was the little girl thrashing around in the closet. Nobody was perfect, John knew, though he wanted as close to perfect as he could get. First, from himself, second his sons, and third from the girl in the closet. The thrashing could have been tolerated, but the girl in the closet wasn't squirming, trying to release her bound hands and ankles. She was thrashing for an entirely different reason.

John guessed epilepsy, but he wasn't a doctor—not that it took one to see that she was obviously sick. A sickness like this couldn't be tolerated. With the life they lived, it would get her killed and endanger his family. John Winchester was a hard man, but no one, not even a sick little girl, would come close to harming his boys. But John Winchester wasn't a careless man, both in the logical and emotional sense. This little girl wasn't right, but that didn't mean he needed to do anything rash. Her parents were probably worried sick. He knew he would be if his boys had been taken the way she was, with only a few salt lines and Devil's Traps to indicate that he'd been there at all.

Just because he was a logical man, didn't mean he didn't relate to her family. If anything, the way he lived made him even more inclined to lessen their pain. He was, after all, doing this for his own. Nothing, not even the yellow-eyed demon and his merry band of fiends, could pry him away from his sons. The death of his wife couldn't even do that much. If anything, it made him more inclined to keep them safe, even if that meant parading around this god-forsaken city in search of a mate for his eldest.

Dean was a man now. At fourteen, just four weeks ago in fact, he'd gone on his first solo hunt. A windego took them further north that he'd been and Dean, in the never-before-seen snow, lined up and took the shot, killing the creature instantly. John, as a father, hadn't been happy to see that his son didn't walk away unscathed—he had a couple of claw marks down his side—but as a Hunter he'd been proud that his son would forever carry a memento of his first real kill. There was no doubt in his mind that Dean was a man now. He could be counted on in a firefight, to watch his back. And while he was a long ways away from taking on a bigger Hunt, he'd done right by John and earned the right to call himself a man.

There were many things that John could teach him—how to Hunt, to lay the salt lines, to shave—but nothing could teach him the importance of family like having his own. Sure, he looked after his little brother, but that would only last for so long. His brother was only four years younger than him, and could take care of himself for the most part. In a few years, he would begin to question his loyalties. John could already hear the protests—the same ones he had had when he was this age. Why couldn't he go to school? Why continue to save people who would rather see them in prison than as heroes? Why continue to hunt the things in the dark when more just kept taking their place?

The answer—the same answer he had been told as a child, the same answer he would give to his son—was simple: Family.

The creatures that came out to play in the moonlight wouldn't stop just because you quit being a Hunter. They were always out there and as long as they existed, no one would be safe. _That_ was why he hunted. _That_ was why they spent hours training. _That_ was why they couldn't stay in a single place for longer than a few weeks. Keeping his family safe was his top—his _only_—priority. And soon, it would also be Dean's.

The little girl stopped convulsing, her limbs going lax almost immediately even as the tears continued to stream down her face. She seemed to be unconscious, but he wouldn't take any chances by loosening her restraints.

"Sam." He motioned for his son.

"Yeah, Dad?" his son asked curiously.

"Make sure she's okay. And don't remove the ties," he added. "Dean?" When his eldest turned to face him, John continued. "Get the car ready, we need to take her back to her family."

"What?! Why?" Dean was angry. "She _is_ with her family, isn't she, Dad? She's supposed to be _my_ family. I don't want to take her back."

John hardened his face and stared down his son. "Dean," he said harshly. "No arguments. Get the car ready. We're taking her back."

Dean's anger deflated. His back straightened and his legs came together, subconsciously standing at attention. "Yes, sir," he said and walked outside to unhitch the car they'd been dragging behind the RV.

John sighed and rubbed his face with his hand. He could vaguely hear Sam speaking in slow tones to the little girl, trying to soothe her. Dean wouldn't have been able to do that. He had too much of his old man in him, John knew. He was a soldier, following orders, saving people. Sammy was the one who took care of them. If Dean was the protector, the soldier, Sam was the researcher, the medic, the intermediary, and the counselor. He didn't follow blindly like Dean, but he understood what they were doing and handled the fallout better than even John did. He was the one who spoke to the grieving families and gave them something to live for when their loved ones were lost. When the girl finished sobbing, John knew he made the right choice in sending Sam to comfort her.

The door opened and Dean walked up the stairs, his face showing his anger, even if his voice stayed even when he told John the car was ready. John knew he had a lot of explaining to do, but that could wait until they were alone in the car on their way to drop the little girl off with her parents. Dean would understand, he knew, once he had time to talk with his son.

John walked toward the closet where Sam was crouched down with the little girl in his arms. Now that John was paying attention, he realized that the girl was probably closer to Sam's age than Dean's. She trusted him, if only for that fact. Sam could convince her that going with John and Dean would be safe. As he got closer, he was surprised to hear Sam asking her questions. He was more surprised to hear that she answered him. In the eight hours they'd had her, she hadn't spoken a word other than to tell them to let her go. And even then, she'd quit after the first few hours in favor of silence.

"Can you tell me about your mom and dad?" Sammy asked her.

The little girl nodded and spoke about them. Her mother was a teacher at the local high school and her father was a Marine. John blanched slightly at the news. He was glad that they were giving her back. Brotherhood deserved more than a kidnapped daughter.

Sam glanced behind him and quirked his eyebrow in question, wanting to know if it was time to leave. John nodded.

Sam turned back to the girl, rubbing his hands in soothing circles on her back. "I'm going to tell you about my dad," he said. John wasn't worried. Sam knew better than to say anything that would bring the law down on them. "My dad seems scary sometimes," he told her and she nodded, "but he will do everything he can to keep you safe, okay?" If she looked skeptical, John didn't blame her. "My dad and my brother are going to take you back to your family, okay?" She looked hopeful, but didn't answer. Sam continued. "But in order to do that, I'm going to need your help. It's going to be a while before you can get back home. A couple of hours at least. And we need you to get into the trunk."

The girl whimpered and flinched away from him. Small shivers racked her body and John was surprised that she didn't start screaming.

"It's okay, it's okay," Sam soothed her. "You love your mom and dad, right?"

The little girl nodded aggressively, eyes wide.

"I love my dad, too," he said, surprising John. He knew his son loved him, but that he would so openly state it was surprising. They weren't the most expressive family. "And I know you would do anything to keep them safe, like I would, right?"

The girl nodded again, much more subdued this time.

"Well my dad and my brother are taking a big risk to give you back to your family. It could get them in a lot of trouble if anyone sees you before you get home. And if someone sees you and they get in trouble, then I'll be all alone like you are right now. I don't want to be alone," Sam admitted, his shoulders sinking down, his head hung as if it was a secret.

John was impressed. He was sure that Sam was telling the truth, but he was definitely overplaying the part. The girl was eating it up.

"You understand now?" he asked her quietly, eyes still downcast. "I need my dad and my brother." He hesitated. "And so I need your help," he said, looking straight into her eyes. John could see the glistening of tears.

The girl hesitated a moment before nodding her head in understanding.

Sammy's smile lit up the room, causing both John and the little girl to smile a little in return.

"Will you stay with me?" she asked. Her voice sounded years younger than she looked.

His smile dimmed a little, turning sad. "Of course," he reassured her.

She nodded and looked up at John expectantly. He put what he hoped was a calm expression and opened his arms to her. "Come here, sweetie," he said.

She cast one last searching expression at Sam before getting off of the floor and walking to John. Even then, she stayed a careful distance away from him.

John thought about having Dean take her—she was more likely to warm to him than John—but seeing the hardened expression on his face, John wasn't sure if that was the best course of action. Instead, he let Dean lead the way, the little girl falling behind him and John bringing up the rear. The girl was smart. She stayed between them. Only once did she look like she was going to run, but the moment passed and she continued trotting forward until they reached the trunk of the Impala.

Before telling the girl to get in, John made sure the padlock on the weapons cache was latched tight and that nothing was loose in the trunk. It was clean. John told himself to remember to praise Dean for that. Even angry, he did nothing but his absolute best.

The girl flinched when John tried to help her into the trunk. He let his arms fall to his sides until she was in all the way. He didn't notice Dean had even gone back into the RV until he returned with a small travel pillow and a blanket.

"I got these for you," Dean said to the girl. John was surprised at the tenderness in his voice. Maybe he had underestimated Dean. "Will you be okay here by yourself?" he asked.

She nodded.

"Ok," he said, satisfied.

Dean closed the trunk carefully and trotted to the passenger seat. He let Sam into the back and John got in after them and started the engine. It hadn't been too long since they'd driven it last so there was no need to check the car before heading out. He pulled onto the road and headed east, back to Alabama to return the little girl.


	2. New Case

Aaron Hotchner sat in his office in the FBI field office in Quantico, Virginia. A light rap at the door had him glancing up from the small mound of paperwork that occupied his attention. "Come in," he said, sitting straight, his attention now turned to the small, blonde woman standing in his doorway. From the carefully concealed look she had on her face, Hotch knew the case hit close to home.

"We have a request from Alabama," Jennifer Jareau stated. "A husband and wife were subdued and tied down in their home. Their ten year old daughter is missing."

"When were they found?" Hotch asked.

"About an hour ago."

"Do we know when was she taken?"

"The police believe around 1AM," JJ told him, knowing that with every hour, her chances of survival were cut in half.

"Eight hours," Hotch stated, trying to reign in his anger. In cases like these, with children missing—kidnapped, he told himself—he couldn't help but think of Jack.

"I know this isn't a serial—" JJ started, but Hotch cut her off.

"No, you're right. Most abducted children don't survive past the first 24 hours," Hotch said, grabbing his briefcase and heading for the door to gather the team. JJ was right on his heels. He strode with purpose out of his office and down the stairs into the bullpen. Spotting Rossi and Prentiss, he walked up to them. "Dave," he said, directing his attention to the senior agent, "we have a missing ten year old girl, home invasion," he informed him.

"Where's our clock?" Rossi asked, an unwilling veteran in child abduction cases.

"Eight hours and counting," Hotch.

Prentiss spoke up. "I'll let Morgan and Reid know and tell them we're on the move," she said before rushing to grab them from the break room. Child abduction cases could be brutal and the time constraint added copious amounts of stress to everyone involved.

"Good," Hotch said at her exit, sure that she could still hear him. "Wheels up in thirty."

On the jet, Rossi started the conversation they'd all been dreading. "Is there an Amber Alert in effect?" he asked.

JJ nodded. "Since seven am this morning," she told him.

"With the Unsub's head start, he could be anywhere within a 400 mile radius. Make sure they're casting a wide enough net," Hotch told her.

"Who found the parents?" Rossi asked.

"Jim Scheuren, Cate's biological father. He was supposed to take her for the weekend. The police don't consider him a suspect," JJ added. Just because the team wouldn't consider him cleared until they'd spoken with him themselves, that didn't mean the locals' opinions didn't matter. If anything, they had to tread more carefully with any 'cleared' suspects.

"I'll want to talk to him anyway," Hotch said. "We're also going to need a list of registered sex offenders within a twenty mile radius."

"And an areal view of the entire neighborhood. I'll get Garcia on it," Morgan said pulling out his cell phone.

"The interview with the parents didn't wield much information," Prentiss noted from the file in her hands. "

"There were traces of GHB in their systems so amnesia is to be expected," Reid interjected. "They didn't even know Cate was missing until Scheuren was untying them from the bed. The only indicator of time was their bedside alarm clock. From the time on the clock, the electricity came back on at around one am. It was presumably cut out during the attack."

"How do we know that she wasn't taken earlier? The last thing Mr. and Mrs. Hale remember was dinner the night before," Morgan said, his phone clicking shut.

"A short text was sent to her best friend before going to sleep at eleven," JJ said. "They'd been texting back and forth for a couple of hours. I have Garcia pulling the transcripts to see whether or not the messages were genuine."

"Rossi," Hotch addressed him as the jet touched down. I want you and Morgan to go to the crime scene. The rest of us will get up to speed at the precinct." With that, the conversation came to a close.

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John and Dean merged onto the freeway, heading back to their RV. They were still a few hours out, but it wouldn't be passed in silence. The ride to Alabama had been anything but uneventful. They'd been pulled over once for speeding, but either the girl didn't realize she was so close to rescue, or she decided she could trust the man who had taken her. Either way, John nearly died of a heart attack at the prospect of taking down a couple of armed officers to make an escape. If he had been alone, he would have been calmer at the idea. But putting his sons in the way of an armed rookie who probably hadn't seen any real action made him nervous in a way that even an angry ghoul out for vengeance didn't.

Dean was relaxed throughout the encounter, chattering on and on about how he and his dad were taking a road trip for the summer. The Grand Canyon was their ultimate goal, he'd informed the officer, making him smile and nod while Sam slept in the back seat. John got nothing more than a warning to keep below the speed limit and they were off again. After that, Dean collapsed back into silence, still angry at having to return the girl.

It had taken the entire trip there, but eventually—as John knew he would—Dean came around. Even at fourteen, he realized that the girl would be a liability. He would throw himself into the fray to save an innocent life, but he wouldn't sacrifice this little girl to the life he'd grown up in just because he wanted a family of his own. So Dean agreed, albeit a bit unwillingly, with his father and helped deliver the girl to the front steps of the Richard K. Morris Memorial Hospital. John didn't know much about seizures, but he knew enough to take her there instead of the police station where the most they could be counted on to have were a few butterfly bandages and maybe some antibiotic ointment. Though that last one wasn't guaranteed.


	3. Special

"Mr. Scheuren?" Hotch said, walking into the small conference room at the precinct.

Jim Scheuren sat on the couch to the side, but rose to meet him when he entered. He smelled heavily of alcohol and his clothes were rumpled. With everything that had happened in the last ten hours—probably the last few years since his divorce—the man just looked defeated. Hotch couldn't help but profile him. This man, in all likelihood, had nothing to do with his daughter's abduction. But, worst of all, he probably couldn't help either. With the state he was in, it had probably been a while since he'd spoken to his daughter, let alone seen her. Hotch knew this interview was going to be short.

"I'm Aaron Hotchner. I'm with the FBI," he said, extending his hand. Scheuren shook it once and then dropped it. "Can I get you anything? Coffee?" Hotch asked, pulling out a chair to sit opposite the man.

"No, no. I can answer your questions," he said a bit anxiously.

"Do you know if your ex-wife or her husband have any enemies?" Hotch asked, getting straight to the point. Prentiss was already interviewing them, but another point of view would help.

"No," he said, a bit surprised at the question. "I mean—I don't know. I –I don't know." He shrugged his shoulders, shaking his head.

"What about Cate? Has she talked about anyone new in her life?"

"She –she's a normal kid. She meets people new all the time," he hedged.

"This would be an adult," Hotch clarified. "Possibly a white male. He might be an authority figure to her. The reason that I ask is that, given the location of your ex-wife's house, we think someone has targeted Cate specifically."

"I –I'm sorry," he said, shaking his head. Hotch knew that he wanted to help, but his time was better spent gathering information elsewhere.

"Was there anything that you can think of that might be helpful?" Hotch asked, knowing that the answer was no.

"We like to go to the movies," Scheuren offered. "There's a new multiplex at the mall."

"Mr. Scheuren, how often do you see Cate?"

"I have visitation every two weeks," he said, looking more guilty than he had since Hotch had walked into the room.

"And do you keep to that schedule? Time is of the essence, Mr. Scheuren."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Scheuren asked angrily.

"With all due respect, sir, it means that if you can't add do my knowledge of Cate, my time is better spent somewhere else."

Scheuren looked away, giving Hotch his answer.

"I'll keep you posted with any new developments." He stood from his seat and exited the room.

Hotch's cell phone rang. He pulled it out of his pocket and flipped it open without checking the screen. "Hotchner," he said into the receiver.

"Hotch, it's Morgan. I think we're looking at multiple Unsubs."

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The boy helped Cate out of the trunk—the man stayed away this time, knowing that she wouldn't want to be anywhere near him—and got her steadied while she stretched out her arms and legs. She made to give the blanket back, but the boy told her to keep it.

"I bought it just for you," he told her. Then he leaned in and whispered, "because you're special." He gave her a quick peck on the cheek and smiled at her. Despite the terror of the last few hours, her heart stuttered in her chest at his smile. "Go be with your family," he told her. "I know they're worried about you."

Cate smiled and wrapped the blanket tighter around herself as he went back to the car. After they drove away, she turned and walked into the hospital. She didn't know what she was doing, but the woman behind the front desk looked nice. She was dressed in blue scrubs and had a lanyard around her neck with silly cartoon dogs on it. It made her want to smile again, but her mouth just wouldn't turn up.

The woman glanced up when Cate approached, looking her up and down before her face flooded with concern at the girl in front of her. "Are you alright, honey?" she asked.

Cate couldn't help but cry at the concern. It was like this with every one of her seizures. Her body ached, she couldn't remember things, and she just felt like crying. This time it was too much. She sobbed into her hands and the woman came out from behind the desk to comfort her.

"Shhh, shhh, it's alright. What's the matter? Can you tell me what hurts?" the woman asked.

Cate took a deep breath and answered. "I –I –I was," she couldn't bring herself to say the word kidnapped. "I ha -have epilepsy," she said instead. "An –And I n –need to find the po –police," she stammered, unable to control her breathing. It was making her lightheaded. "I –I want m –my mom and d –dad." And then it was too much to even try to form the words to speak. Her lungs ached trying to pull in enough air. The woman continued asking her questions, but the blood pounded behind her ears and the world went dark.


	4. Flashback

"The crime scene was weird, Hotch," Morgan said.

The entire team—excluding JJ who was busy dealing with the press— was seated in the precinct's conference room away from prying eyes. A child abduction case had everyone on edge, especially this one. Hotch couldn't put his finger on what it was, but Morgan was right. It was definitely weird.

"How so?" he asked.

"Well the salt, for one. It was everywhere. Every window, every door in the house had a line of salt in front of it. Not to mention the symbols painted on the ceiling, which were obviously done by two different Unsubs. I just don't get it."

"Well," Reid looked up from the crime scene photos to make sure he had their attention before going back to studying the markings intently. He had close ups from every angle, but there was something about them that seemed vaguely familiar. "The salt makes sense if we look at this as a ritualistic kidnapping. In many belief systems, salt signifies immutability and incorruptible purity. Some religions even mix salt into their version of holy water to keep it from becoming corrupted and they would even bury their dead in copious amounts of salt to keep them at rest. The Egyptians were especially privy to this fact, using salt to preserve the bodies of the dead. Greek worshipers would sprinkle salt on all sacrificed animals to purge them of filth before offering them to the gods."

"Reid," Hotch stated, wanting him to get to the point.

"Right. Well, um. In superstition, salt is considered protective against evil and demons. During the Middle Ages, it was common belief that the possessed were unable to consume anything salted. Laying lines of salt were used to ward off demons and evil spirits. It is said that they are unable to cross the purity of the salt because it is impervious to the taint of evil. Oh!" Reid exclaimed, remembering at last where he'd seen the symbols in the picture. "I know these symbols," he said, excitedly. "They're Enochian runes."

"Enochian?" Rossi asked. "As in 'language of the angels'?"

Reid nodded enthusiastically.

"So… what?" Morgan asked, confused. "The Unsubs thought Mr. and Mrs. Hale were evil and had to be contained? Why not just kill them? If the Unsubs thought they were evil, why did they leave them alive?"

Prentiss spoke up. "It is possible that the Unsubs weren't trying to keep them in, but keep evil out. I mean, leaving them in such a vulnerable position, they would be the perfect victims for evil to take advantage of. Is it possible the Unsubs were trying to protect them?" she asked.

"That's definitely a possibility," Hotch considered, though he thought she was correct in her assumption. "However, I would like to wait to give the profile until we know more about the symbols painted on the walls. You said they were on the ceiling above every door in the bedroom? Including the closet?" he asked Morgan.

"Yeah," Morgan answered. "And there was another in the bathroom above the window."

"Reid." Hotch pulled him from deep concentration. "Do you know anybody who can tell us exactly what these symbols mean?"

Reid glanced at his watch and thought about it. "I can make a couple of calls, but they will have to wait for another fifteen minutes. Both contacts are teaching summer classes that don't let out until two."

Hotch nodded. "Alright then. Let me know if you make any headway." He directed his attention to the rest of the team. "It's been almost thirteen hours since Cate has gone missing. Morgan, I want you to coordinate with Garcia, see if you can narrow down the suspect list. If the Unsubs are their neighbors, you're going to be the one to find him."

"If?" Rossi asked. "You don't think our Unsubs are local?"

"I don't think that we should make the presumption that they are until we have more to go on." Before he could continue, JJ walked into the conference room. "Hotch, they let her go. The Unsubs dropped Cate off at Richard K. Morris Memorial after she had a seizure in their RV. I have two guards posted at her room until we get there. I'm letting the parents know right now."

Hotch nodded. "Have Garcia send directions to our phones," he told her before she left.

From the look of his team, he wasn't the only one who was confused.

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"She's been in and out of consciousness, but her vitals are stable," the nurse informed them. "Her parents are with her now."

"Was there any sign of sexual assault?" Prentiss asked.

The nurse shook her head. "We haven't tested yet," she said. "We wanted to give her time to process."

"May we speak with her?" Prentiss asked.

The nurse nodded her ascent, but added, "You should know, seizures usually come with retrograde amnesia. She might have holes in her memory." An alarm blared and the nurse dismissed herself with an, "excuse me."

Hotch turned to the other agent. "Prentiss, you should do this alone," he said.

She looked flustered for a second, before agreeing. He was right. After being kidnapped and possibly… well anything really, Cate wouldn't want to speak to a dominant alpha-male like Hotch. Prentiss would have better luck getting her to remember details that could help them.

She flashed her badge at the guard posted at Cate's room and he let her in. Prentiss looked somber as she spoke to the families. She learned at a young age that smiling in the face of peoples' suffering would only make her seem heartless. "Mr. and Mrs. Hale. Mr. Scheuren," Prentiss greeted. She shook each of their hands, in turn. "I am agent Emily Prentiss of the FBI. I would like permission to speak with Cate."

"Of course," Mrs. Hale said.

Prentiss allowed herself to look uncomfortable for a moment before firming her back. "I'm sorry," she said earnestly, making sure to look each of them in the eye, "but I'd like to do it alone, if at all possible."

Mr. Hale objected strongly. "We're her parents," he stated.

Prentiss was surprised that he didn't subconsciously exclude Scheuren from his statement.

"We should be with her."

"I understand, Mr. Hale, I do. It's just that…" Prentiss hesitated a moment. "I am going to need to ask her certain questions that she may not be comfortable with discussing in front of her parents at the moment."

Mr. Hale looked like he was about to protest again, but stopped when his wife laid her had on his arm. She exchanged a look with her ex-husband and nodded at whatever she found.

"Alright," she said to Prentiss. She turned to her daughter. "We're just going to be out in the hall. Do you want us to get you anything?" she asked.

Cate nodded. "Water?" she asked hopefully. She was probably dehydrated.

"I'll be back with a pitcher of water," her mother confirmed before leaning down to kiss her forehead. The two men followed her out.

"Thank you," Prentiss told them.

Alone in the room with Cate, Prentiss turned her attention to the little girl. She was young, just ten years old. The thin pallor of her face and the large hospital bed made her look like a terminal patient, though Emily knew she would be fine. Epilepsy aside, Cate was a healthy child and her captors hadn't caused her any permanent physical damage.

"Hi, Cate," she said, lowering her tone a bit so as not to startle the young girl. "My name is Emily. I'd like to ask you some questions so we can find out who did this. Is that okay?" she asked, hopefully.

Cate thought about it for a moment before nodding her head. "Yeah," she said. "it's okay."

Her voice was firmer than Prentiss had thought it would be. She looked Prentiss in the eye as she spoke and she sat with her shoulders straight. Emily took a moment to admire the strength of the little girl in front of her.

"We're going to do what's called a cognitive interview," Emily began. "It's as much about the things you sensed as the things you saw."

"I'm scared," Cate told her, her voice wavering.

"I know, that's okay," Emily assured her. "I'm right here with you. I'm here all the way. Now, I need you to close your eyes." After Cate's eyes were closed, Emily continued. "Ok. What is the first thing you remember?"

And just like that, Cate was back in her room, staring up at a face she would never forget as long as she lived.

_It's cold. When I fell asleep, it was so hot that I didn't think the fan would be enough, but now that I'm awake, it's too cold. I need to close my window. Just like that, my eyes open. I don't remember hearing anything, but a hand closes over my mouth before I can scream at the two men in my room. _

_"Keep quiet," the first man nearly growls. He reminds me of my dad, even though he scares me. He's shorter than my dad is, but still tall, and he has the same dark, high and tight haircut. He puts something around my neck—a necklace. And it's thin, so thin that I forget it's there._

_I'm scared, but even though I try to scream, no sound comes out. _

_The other man is just a boy with a face like in those shows my mom always watches. He tells the man to hurry up. _

_The man ties my hands tightly with the plastic ties the boy tosses to him, and they both usher me out the front door. I trip in the doorway and the man curses, telling the boy to fill in the gap. We both wait while he adds more powder to the line I broke. The man drags me out to the street. Him and the boy both look nervous like they're waiting for something. Then a car comes. The headlights are too bright that I can't see who's driving. I don't get to see any more before they have me in the trunk. It's cold. I'm cold. The turns make me dizzy even though the road isn't bumpy. _

_The taillights let me see the inside of the trunk just enough to know that the hard thing digging into my back is a padlock. I pull at it, hoping it's a way out, but it won't give. I try to push the trunk open, bite at the plastic cuffs, smack my palms against every part of the trunk I can see. My wrists are bleeding a little from where the cuffs bite into my wrists and it makes me stop. My wrists hurt and I still can't scream. _

_The car stops after a long time. I have to pee really bad because I've been in here for hours, but I'm too scared to ask when the trunk opens. The man pulls me out, but he's careful this time. It's like when my dad used to carry me to bed. He pets my hair before he sets me down. The boy looks at me funny, but before I can ask him what he's staring at, the man puts his hand on my back to get me to move. _

_We walk through the woods and the wind screams loudly through the trees. It was cold in the car, but now my toes and hands are freezing…_

"I –I don't remember after that."

"It's alright," Emily urged her. "It's fine if you don't remember. Just take a deep breath. Are you inside now?" she asked, trying to push her back into her memories.

_Inside it's nice and warm. My fingers and toes tingle a little bit, but it feels good not to be cold anymore. I curl my toes and the carpet goes in between my toes a little. I'm missing my shoes now. I can see more than I could in the car. I have to be in a closet. There are a lot of clothes hung up around me. I can hear a small zipping sound and when I look through the slats in the door, there's another boy there. He looks just a little bit younger than me even though he's just as tall. He stands in front of the closet with both hands handcuffed behind him. Unlike me, his handcuffs are real. I think he's been kidnapped like me, but then one of his hands comes out of the cuffs and the man just pats him on the shoulder. _

_"Atta boy!" he says loudly. "Just under two minutes. You're catching up to your brother."_

_Then there's a small ringing sound. Like a fairy. The man turns away and says something to the older boy. "No, you have to concentrate. Look here," he says. "See, like that." _

_The older boy moves and the bells ring again. "Just keep trying, you'll get it." The boy lets out a grunt of frustration, but I know that he keeps doing whatever it is because the bells continue ringing. _

_I try pulling on the door, but it doesn't even give an inch before the clatter of he lock tells them that I'm awake. The bells stop and the younger boy turns around and looks at me through closet door. The older boy whispers something to him and he leaves. _

_I hear the sound of the door unlocking just before it swings open. The older boy stands there with a small cup of water. "Here," he says quietly, handing me the cup. "You must be thirsty."_

_I take it, but I don't drink it. _

_"It's okay," he says, sweetly, smiling. "It's just water."_

_I want to give it back, but I'm so thirsty. So I drink it. I can help but finish it all. I hand him back the cup and the smile he gives me then is blinding, like he just opened his first Christmas present. _

_"Don't worry," he whispers, his smile dimming just a little. "I'll take care of you. I'll keep you safe."_

Everything after that was a blur to Cate. She vaguely remembered having a seizure, but more so because of what happened after than the actual event. She told Emily about the younger boy soothing her, telling her it was going to be alright, rubbing her back like her mom did when she was sick, and about the older boy kissing her on the cheek, telling her she was special. She even told Emily how, for just a second, she was sad to see the boys leave after they took her to the hospital.


	5. Devil's Traps and Salt Lines

"Is it a match?" Detective Bates asked.

Morgan nodded. He and Rossi just returned to the precinct after looking into the nearby RV parks. Luckily, they hadn't had to hit all twelve on the list. "It's the same rock salt found at the Hales'," he said, stopping to talk to the detective. "The RV park owner said they spread it around the entire camp site. She'd cleaned up most of it, but the small trace Rossi and I found was enough for a match."

"So everything they do is part of some ritual," Rossi said.

"Have you ever seen anything like this before?" Bates asked.

"A family that ritualizes kidnappings? Definitely not," Morgan answered.

"And if they found that Cate didn't suit the ritual's requirements, they're going to have to find someone to replace her," Rossi surmised.

Before they could delve deeper into that line of thinking, Reid walked in holding up his phone and waved them over. Morgan and Rossi excused themselves and followed Reid into the conference room.

Hotch and the others were already inside, just as eager to hear what Reid's contacts had come up with. Reid pushed a few buttons to put it on speaker and placed it face up on the desk. "Everyone, this is Robert Singer. He was referred to me by one of my contacts as an expert in the occult."

"Please," a gruff voice came from the small phone. "Call me Bobby. Haven't been Mr. Singer in years," he chuckled lightly. "Sandy didn't tell me much about the case, just that your guy was drawing occult stuff on the ceilings. Thought it might fall into my field."

"I'd like to thank you in advance for speaking with us. I am Supervisory Special Agent Aaron Hotchner with the FBI," Hotch began. "We have you on speaker phone with me and my team. I have a few—"

"Feds?" Bobby interrupted nervously. "Sandy didn't say you were feds. Humph. Must be urgent he had you calling me," he said mostly to himself. They could hear him stroking his beard through the speaker. "I'll help in any way I can," he said after a pause, "provided you'll fill me in a little about your case. I know you want my help with information on the occult stuff, but sometimes people don't know what other kind of help they need," he said, a bit obscurely.

Hotch told himself to have Garcia run a quick check on this man once they were finished.

"You have questions," Bobby continued. "I'll do what I can to answer them, but I'm not making promises."

"That's fair. Thank you, Mr. Singer."

Bobby scoffed, but didn't bother correcting him.

"Have you received the crime scene photos?" Reid asked.

"Yep. Got them right here. They're called Devil's Traps," he said, matter-of-factly. "Deal is, demons can walk into them, but once they're inside the circle, their powers are drained some and they can't escape unless either the runes are erased or the circle is broken. It's why they call it a Devil's Trap, it traps demons. And whoever drew these knew what he was doing, too." He let out an appreciative hum. "Steady hand like that, and quick too. Must be a real player," he informed them.

Hotch didn't like the sound of that. "Player?" he questioned.

"Yeah. Some of the newbies get themselves into trouble with their traps, drawing the symbols wrong or even upside down, the ijits. Some of 'em aren't willing to do their research and draw the wrong sigil altogether. This one, though, is more of an all-purpose Devil's Trap. It'll trap demons of all sizes, but it's a complicated one. The lines have to be exact or it won't work at all. Looks to me like this guy was in a big hurry. The paint's a bit thin in some places, but they're still as clear and clean-cut as can be. He's definitely a veteran."

"Newbies? Devil's Traps? Demons? Are you saying our Unsubs are in some kind of cult?" Morgan asked.

"I don't believe my team and I are on the same page as you. We're going to need you to elaborate more if you can, Mr. Singer," Hotch stated.

The silence on the other end of the line went on for so long, Hotch was afraid the man had hung up on him.

"Bobby?" Reid asked.

"Yeah, I'm here, kid." Then they heard him let off a string of expletives in the background that his father would have been proud of, ending with an angry threat to feed this unknown 'Sandy' to a starving vampire next time he saw him. When he was finished, the team could hear his voice loud and clear. "Just tell me one thing," Bobby said, exasperated. "Any of you ever heard of a Hunter?"

Prentiss rolled her eyes. "Of course," she stated.

Bobby tsked under his breath. "No," he said. "Not a hunter off in the woods shooting chickens and whatnot. A Hunter."

From the way he stated the word, Hotch could tell it held a different meaning for him.

"I'm not sure we understand you're trying to say," Rossi hedged.

"Yeah," Bobby sighed. "I kind of figured that out for myself. Well, like I said. You guys need more help with this than I thought. Where are you?" he asked.

"My team and I thank you for your help, Mr. Singer, but you don't need to trouble yourself. We can handle things from here," Hotch informed him.

Hotch could practically hear the smirk in the other man's voice when he answered. "All due respect, agent, I don't think you can. Tell me, they laid down salt lines, am I right?"

"Yes," Hotch hedged, wondering where he was going with this. He motioned for Morgan to contact Garcia. There was something about the way Singer was talking that put the entire team on edge. He needed to know more about who they were talking to.

"Check the door frames," Bobby said. "I guarantee you find something a bit more elaborate than those Devil's Traps on the ceiling. I'd go with UV lights. If your guy is as good as I think he is, he'd expect the visible traps to be removed and would rely on something more permanent. My guess is he's running from something. And if he took the time to ward the house that well, it's got to be something big."

There was another extensive pause before the silence was broken with a delighted chuckle. "I was wondering how long it'd take you to search for me," he said amusedly. "Woo! Your techie is good, but whoever he is, he's no match for Ash… Well, maybe he is that good after all," Bobby amended. Garcia must have done something that surprised him. "Still think Ash could trump him in a real fight, though." Bobby chucked. "Things will go along much smoother if you'd just tell me where you are. It'll take me a while to figure it out and you may not have that long before the storm hits."

Rossi leveled a stare at Hotch before he answered, "Garrison, Alabama. We're at the local precinct."

"Good. I just finished up a Hunt in-state. I can be at the station in just under two hours so long as I don't get stopped for speeding. Stay safe, you hear?" he said, surprising the team. "I know you aren't superstitious, but humor an old man. Carry some salt with you, just in case."

With that request, the line went dead. "Morgan, anything?"

"Whatchya got for me, Baby Girl?" he asked, putting Garcia on speaker.

"A whole lotta nothing," she said. "I don't know who this guy is, Reid, but he is _brilliant_," she said the word spitefully. "Not only was he able to stop my attempts at locating your occult specialist, but he came this close to breaching my firewalls, _at the same time_. I hate to say it," she said sadly, "but I might not even be in the same league as this guy, though it does come pretty close."

Morgan took her off speaker and listened for a minute before replying. "Thanks anyway, Sweetness," he said, flipping his phone closed and slipping it into his pocket.


	6. New Hunt

Dean was much more subdued in his hunt than he was the last time, John noticed. It wasn't that he was anxious about it, more that he wanted to be sure it was the right one this time. John didn't want to admit it, but he knew that Dean had started falling for the last girl. And if her small smile at the hospital was any indication, she had been falling for him a bit as well. John knew that Dean didn't want to let her go, but it was for the best. And, John swore, he would make sure that this one was _the_ one.

John drove for a while, losing himself in the turns of the road. He'd gotten wind of a Hunt in Arizona. There was no reason he couldn't multitask, he reasoned. Take care of two hunts in one swoop. Dean had always had a thing for a natural tan. Arizona would be the perfect place to find someone. And if they found him a girl on the way, that would be even better.

John glanced at Dean out of the corner of his eye. Normally, John couldn't keep him quiet on the road. He was always tapping away at the dash and belting out AC/DC lyrics at the top of his lungs. He couldn't help but notice the change in his eldest. Even Sammy seemed to know something was bothering him from the sly looks he kept casting his older brother. Still, it took a while before anyone spoke.

"Dean?" Sammy tried to pull his brother from his thoughts.

"Yeah, Sammy?" Dean asked, curiously.

"Sam," he corrected automatically.

Dean rolled his eyes, smirking.

"You ok?" he asked.

Dean's smirk disappeared. "Yeah, Sam. I'm good."

John spoke up. "You sure? You seem quiet. We can't help if you don't tell us what's wrong," he said.

"It's just," Dean started. He looked back out the window, unable to meet his father's eyes. "With the girl," he said. John already knew that was what this was about. "If we'd known who she was… She shouldn't have gone through that. We took her because she was going to be a part of my family, but I couldn't protect her," he said dejectedly. "All I did was scare her and… Who's to say I won't do that to someone else?" Dean was miserable.

John paused before answering. "You won't," he said as confidently as he could. "You're a good man, Dean. What happened with the girl was my fault. I rushed into things when I should have made sure she was right. It won't happen again," he assured him.

Dean nodded, but he didn't speak. It would be a while, John knew, before he would forgive himself for hurting that little girl. That is, if he forgave himself at all. Guilt was part of the Winchester curse and it never went away. John thought of all the people he'd failed to save over the years, all spanning back to the death of his wife at the hands of old Yellow-Eyes. There'd been monsters and demons and spirits before then, but none of his failures seemed to bite at him the way his wife's death had. If he'd been a better Hunter, if he'd protected his family like she'd expected of him, things would have turned out so much more different. He needed his wife to help him with this. He'd never been this alone before, not since the first night after her death. The boys needed their mother back, especially now that Dean would be starting a family of his own.

The silence in the Impala lasted three days while they made the trip to Arizona. They hadn't stopped for more than food to give Dean a chance to look for another girl. John knew it was too soon since the last one, but he also knew that Dean would continue to blame himself until John could prove he was ready for the responsibility of protecting his family.

So just after the WELCOME TO ARIZONA sign at the state border, John exited the freeway and pulled into the first parking spot he saw outlying the mall. Much to Dean and Sam's surprise, John handed each of them a twenty dollar bill.

"I'm going to do some research into this poltergeist," he told them. "You all have your weapons?"

They didn't need to, but both boys double-checked their waistband, pockets, and calves.

"Yeah, Dad," Sammy said.

"Good. I'll be back in a few hours. Dean. Watch out for your brother."

Sam grimaced.

"Yes, sir."

John nodded, sure that his boys would be alright without him for a few hours, not that he was going anywhere. All the research on their Hunt was already done. He climbed into the Impala anyway and backed out of the parking spot. The local coffee shop had Wi-Fi. After ordering, he connected to it immediately and went about hacking into the mall's security feeds to watch his boys. They weren't in any immediate danger, but that wasn't the point.

He settled in for the long haul, watching as his boys made their way to an arcade.

It was a few hours later that bell chimed, letting John know that another person had entered the coffee shop. A few people had come in after him, but this customer was different. Despite the fact that it was a beat cop, John wouldn't have been alarmed if the officer hadn't strode purposefully toward his table. John hastily closed out of the security feeds and sealed the computer with an encryption key only he and his boys would know. Before he ran out of time, he sent a short text to Dean.

With the cop towering over him, he put on a surprised look and asked in his most innocent tone, "Can I help you, officer?"

"John Winchester?" the cop asked, pulling out his badge and placing one hand on the butt of his weapons holster.

John cursed to himself. If they knew his name, they knew everything. He glanced out the window to see two squad cars parked outside. There was no way out of this that wouldn't put civilians in harms way. He resolved himself to going quietly.


	7. Bobby Singer

It was an hour and a half before Bobby made it to the precinct. He hadn't been pulled over only out of sheer luck. The first speed trap he hit, the lady ahead of him seemed to be trying to match pace with a snail. The second had been pretty obvious so he'd had enough time to slow down to a decent pace. The third trap caught him going nearly twenty over, but either the cop hadn't been paying attention or it was common enough that he didn't bother pulling him over. Even so, he was surprised that he'd made such good time.

Not bothering to change out of his Hunting clothes, Bobby walked into the precinct—the only one in this small town—and strode up to the front desk, looking the half-annoyed desk jockey in the eye. "Name's Bobby Singer," he said. "I'm here to talk to the feds."

The man nodded and motioned for him to wait in one of the chairs to his right. Bobby didn't pay them any mind, preferring to stand where he was. It didn't take long for Bobby to spot two feds coming to approach him. One was an older Italian man, about his age. The other, a tall, raven haired woman.

"Mr. Singer," Prentiss greeted him, holding her hand out.

He took it. "Bobby," he corrected.

"Bobby," she nodded, letting his hand go. "I'm Emily Prentiss. This is David Rossi."

Rossi and Bobby shook hands as well.

"What about your boss, the broody one?" Bobby asked, not caring for the formalities when something a bit shit-storm was headed their way.

Rossi and Prentiss exchanged a look. "This way," she answered.

Bobby was led to a small conference room. He was surprised a precinct this big even had a spare room to offer the feds. A young man stood in front of a board plastered with photos of the Devil's traps and salt lines. The runes on the door frames were added as well and Bobby felt a small swelter of pride at having one-upped the feds. A slight, blonde woman was talking quietly on the phone to his side. From her exasperated tone and the few words he could pick up, he figured her for some sort of press agent. The man he was here to see, the one Bobby thought could use a bit of help with the stick lodged pretty far up his ass, was sitting at the medium-sided table, pouring through a file.

"Aaron Hotchner?" Bobby addressed him before another bout of introductions—or, God forbid, _questioning_—could take place. "What's all this?" he asked seriously, motioning to the file Hotch was pouring over. It had shots of a little girl, no more than ten years old, mixed in with the crime scene pictures.

"This is Catherine Scheuren. She was kidnapped by our Unsubs and returned three and a half hours ago." Hotch matched his somber expression.

"Sandy didn't say anything about a missing kid." Bobby took off his baseball cap and ran a hand through his hair before fixing his had back in place. Hotch watched all of this with curiosity. "Wait. You said they brought her back?" Bobby was skeptical.

Rossi answered from behind. "Cate has epilepsy. She had a seizure and the Unsubs brought her to the hospital."

"You get a chance to talk to her?" Bobby asked.

"Prentiss performed a cognitive interview," Hotch said, surprised when Bobby just nodded instead of asking about it.

"Please don't tell me there were a couple of young boys there with her," Bobby said hopefully.

When everyone's eyes turned suspicious, Bobby knew he had his answer. He cursed John Winchester to the deepest pits of Hell. He'd dealt with enough of the Winchester family to know he probably deserved a place there.

"Mr. Singer," Hotch said carefully. Bobby didn't bother to correct him this time. He was a suspect now, he knew. Dammit, John! "What do you know about this case."

"Well," he said hesitantly. "I know who you're looking for." He paused. "And I also know that you guys are in a whole lot more trouble than I thought."

From the man's sullen expression and sad gaze, Hotch was sure the last statement wasn't meant to be taken as a threat. Still. "Tell us what you know, Mr. Singer," Hotch said, softening his tone.

"John Winchester," Bobby said. "That's who you're looking for. You won't find much on him, I guarantee that. Me and the Roadhouse crew help him stay under the radar, pulled him out of more shit than you can imagine. Compared to most of the others—don't even get me started on Gordon—his screws are all tightened and in tip-top shape."

"If he's such an upstanding citizen," Rossi interjected. "Why do we have a ritualized kidnapping on our hands?"

Bobby grimaced. "That little girl there," he motioned at the photos still in Hotch's hands, "is the only reason I'm still here to help you catch him. John's like family, but I can't let him lead his boys down the same road. It just ain't right," he sighed. He once again cursed John in his head. "See, John's a family man. There isn't anything he wouldn't do for his family—his boys, his wife, and, maybe to some extent, me." Bobby grimaced.

The team let him work out whatever was going on in his head without interruption. They knew he would talk when he was ready.

"He didn't have the most orthodox childhood," Bobby started with. "When he was eleven, he bagged his first baddie solo. Pretty young, if you ask me, but he's always been one to push the limits. Five years of constant travel, Hunting, and seclusion from pretty much everyone but his father and brothers, left him angry. Ran away, joined the Marines."

"That still doesn't explain—" Prentiss started.

"I'm getting to that. See, his daddy thought that the reason John left was that he lacked incentive. Family was always his biggest motivator. So he did to John what he did to his two older brothers. He found him a wife."

"A wife?" Reid questioned. Bobby had everybody's attention now. "Yeah. It's been a long-standing Winchester tradition for… at least three generations that I know of."

"Three generations of kidnappings and you never informed the police?!" Rossi asked incredulously.

"Whoa, hold your horses there. I didn't say they kidnapped people. I said he found him a wife. Word on the grapevine is that John's daddy paid top dollar for an arranged marriage between his son and a Hunter's daughter. As I heard it, she was willing enough. True lovebirds those two," Bobby chuckled. "They suited each other."

Hotch watched curiously as Bobby's expression darkened. He wasn't sure he was going to like where this story was heading. Looking back down at the pictures in his hands, he knew where the story ended.

"Had two boys," Bobby continued. "Dean and Sam. Mary died when Sam was six months old. Killed right in the nursery. John went back into Hunting. Took his boys and ran. That was about ten years ago."

When the pause stretched uncomfortably, Prentiss spoke up. "I'm sorry, but I still don't understand what this has to do with the… Devil's traps," the words fell skeptically from her lips, "and kidnapping Cate."

"John called me about a month back about Dean getting his first solo kill under his belt. Went hunting a wolf just north of here. Kid's a lot like his daddy," Bobby said pointedly, watching as the others reached the same understanding as him.

"So you're telling us that John Winchester is kidnapping girls to be suitors for his son so he won't… what? Run away?" Rossi asked.

"It's a bit more than that. Mary didn't die in the most conventional of ways, to say the least."

"You mean she was murdered?" Reid asked.

"More or less," Bobby said evasively. "Without a Hunter on your team, that's pretty much all I can tell you about it. When you catch John, maybe he'll let you in on the big bad. Which reminds me. I brought you guys something." Bobby reached into his pocket and pulled out a handful of necklaces. He tossed one to each of the members of the team. "There's a reason John warded the house. My guess is that something's following him and whatever it is, it's putting whoever he comes in contact with at risk. You don't have to wear these when you go back to Quantico if you don't want to, but put 'em on while you're on this case and they'll leave you alone."

Prentiss looked at the necklace she'd just placed around her neck. "This looks like the one the older boy—Dean—gave to Cate."

Bobby nodded. "It's an anti-possession charm. They probably gave it to her until they could get to a safe place to tattoo it. The necklace will work so long as it stays on, but anyone can pull it off. Look," he said at their skeptical looks. "Don't let your pride get you killed." He addressed Hotch directly when he spoke this time. "Without these necklaces, your entire team is at risk. Trust me when I say that wearing them will truly help."

Hotch nodded slowly. If it meant appeasing the superstitious man, he couldn't see any reason not to. "I'll wear mine," Hotch told him. "But I won't speak for the entire team."

Bobby nodded his thanks. He was sure the older Italian wouldn't wear his, but the others looked willing. So long as he took the proper precautions, he would be able to keep the yellow-eyed demon out of the man. Because it had to be Yellow-Eyes. There was no other demon that would warrant this reaction from John.

"Agent Rossi," he addressed him. "I'm sorry about his, but if you aren't going to wear the necklace, I'm going to have to keep doing this." Bobby pulled a flask out of his jacket and poured a bit holy water over his own hand before motioning Rossi to hold out his own. Rossi did and Bobby was relieved when there wasn't a reaction. He capped his flask and slipped it back into his jacket pocket. "Let me make a few calls and I can point you in the right direction. John may be looking for another little girl, but he's a Hunter first and foremost. He'll be onto the next big thing as fast as his wheels will take him."

Hotch nodded to him and Bobby got to work. He dialed the number to the Roadhouse and it picked up on the third ring. "Ellen? It's Bobby… Yeah… No, that sounds more like a Black Dog than a Hound… Uh huh… Just make sure you get it the first time. Shot of silver should do the trick." Bobby chuckled. "Mind if I speak to Will?" There was a short pause. "Yeah, I told Ellen. Like I said, a shot of silver… Well, actually, I'm here with the feds." A smile spread across his face at something the other man said. "I know, right. Actually, I need some info on Winchester. You heard from him lately? He's bringing a huge shit-storm down on my head and I don't have any way to contact him… Really? Alright then. Thanks, Will. I owe you one… Nah, but if he calls, let him know I'm looking for him."

He flipped his phone closed and turned back to the team. The others had mostly gone back to whatever they were doing before he'd arrived. Hotch was on the phone this time and the blonde woman was gone. He hadn't even noticed her leave. Bobby sauntered up to Reid and was surprised to see pictures of a younger John Winchester up on the board next to the sigils. Taking a closer look at the more elaborate sigils on the doorframe, Bobby was certain John was their man. The house was specifically warded to shield the occupants from Yellow-Eyes and his cronies—even when the family was outside the house. He couldn't help but be impressed. They may not have much information about Mary's killer, but John and his boys had done a lot with what they had.

"Any luck?" Reid asked when he noticed Bobby standing beside him.

"Yeah, actually. Contact of mine said there's a Hunt in Arizona that John claimed—a poltergeist terrorizing schoolchildren. If you put out a hit on a black '67 Impala, you should be able to catch him easy enough. Other than his boys, there's nothing John loves more than that car. He wouldn't be caught anywhere without it. It'll take him a few days to get there so I wouldn't hold my breath for a hit until then."

"Cate said she was held in an RV," Reid stated.

"Probably stolen," Bobby shrugged.

"Mr. Singer is right," Hotch said behind him, just coming off of the phone. "That was Morgan. They just found the RV. Owners filed a report three days ago. It was found twenty minutes ago, still hot. It'll be a while before they can collect evidence. Morgan's headed there now to see what he can find."

"Morgan?" Bobby asked worriedly. "Another member of your team?"

"Yes," Hotch answered. "I sent him to the hospital in case there was more information we needed from the family."

"_Balls_!" Bobby said angrily, grabbing his cap off of his head and smacking it against his hand. "Call your man back here," he told Hotch. "Tell him you found Winchester. Make sure to use the name."

"May I ask what this is about?" Hotch asked.

"Just trust me," Bobby said earnestly, "and I'll explain more when he gets here. Any chance one of you can read Latin?"

Reid shrugged sheepishly. "I can, a little, but it's been a while."

Bobby smile, looking relieved. "Boy, that's the best news I've heard all day."


	8. Christo

Bobby prepared for a siege. So long as he didn't interrupt their work, Hotch didn't mind humoring him. With a promise to clean up after himself—which earned him a scoff and an offended "of course"—Hotch left Bobby to his preparations. Every ten minutes, he watched Bobby test Rossi. The first and second tests were done with the liquid from his flask. After one of the sheriffs shot Bobby a pointed look about getting stuff all over the floor, Bobby quit that method of testing. Latin seemed to do the same trick.

Right on time, Bobby stumbled back into the conference room and walked up to Rossi, flask in hand, and mumbled _Christo_. When Rossi didn't react, Bobby smiled and walked back out of the room to finish up whatever he was doing.

Hotch looked at his watch. He called Morgan almost an hour ago, telling him to come straight to the precinct after the crime scene. He wasn't going to rush him back on a whim. Bobby hadn't been too keen on the idea, but he was in no position to argue. Morgan should be here any minute.

Bobby came back into the conference room carrying a small box with a rather large floor mat placed on top of it. He spread the mat in front of the doorway and tucked the box into a corner.

"What's in the box?" Reid asked.

"Hopefully you won't have to find out," Bobby replied, pulling off his cap again. He rubbed his hand through his thinning hair before placing the hat back on.

Reid recognized it as a tell—the man was extraordinarily nervous. It made him curious to know how he was able to mask his facial expressions so well that the only indication of his anxiety was the fixing of his hat.

"Rossi?" Bobby asked. The man looked up. "_Christo._"

The man just rolled his eyes and went back to the paperwork in front of him.

"Good. Now," he said, raising his voice just enough that everyone in the room heard him. "When your agent walks through that door, I want you to be as prepared as you can be. Do not, under any circumstances, step on the mat. Stay out of arms reach and remember, that isn't your friend anymore. It has all of his memories and it'll use them to get to you. I hope I'm wrong, but if I'm not, just trust me, you'll know it. And don't look at me like I'm gonna shoot him as soon as he steps through the door. Guns won't do a damn thing to it. Some Latin and water will make him as good as new."

The tension in the air went down a notch at his reassurance. They were profilers, they knew he was telling the truth. Well, the truth as he believed it anyway.

"Hey kid," he said to Reid. "You have that piece of paper I gave you?"

Reid nodded. He memorized it almost as soon as he got it. It took a bit longer to read than it would have if it had been in English, but once got through it, it was as good as imprinted in his mind.

"Good. If something happens to me 'cause of your boy, I'm going to need you to finish the exorcism. Just follow along and if I can't do it, pick up where I left off. It's the best chance you'll have of saving your friend."

"Saving who?" Morgan asked from the doorway, chuckling darkly. "You wanted me here, Hotch?"

"Yep," Bobby answered, taking a step forward and holding out his hand to shake, still making sure to stay clear of the mat. He pasted a welcoming smile on his face. "Bobby Singer," he said. "We talked on the phone."

Morgan didn't smile as he stepped into the room. To the surprise of everyone but Bobby, Morgan stood in the center of the mat and smiled menacingly. "Bobby Singer," he sneered, chuckling. "Do you even know what you're up against? This is much bigger than you think it is."

"Mr. Singer, what's going on?" Prentiss asked.

"It turns out, I wasn't wrong after all," Bobby told her, still keeping his eyes on Morgan. "Look at him. You guys are profilers. You can tell that this isn't your friend."

Hotch looked closely and knew Bobby was telling the truth. When most people saw Morgan, they saw the high school jock, the bully. They didn't see the natural protectiveness he had for other people. They didn't see the easygoing nature or the quick smiles he had for everyone. What they saw intimidated the hell out of them. And Hotch couldn't see even a trace of the man he called a friend. Morgan stood just a few feet inside the room, staring down the Hunter like he wanted to skin him alive. Morgan looked more threatening than most of their Unsubs and just as sadistic. Hotch knew the others were seeing the same thing if Rossi's sudden dawning of his necklace was any indication.

"_Christo_," Bobby uttered.

Morgan's eyes turned pitch black and he flinched as if Bobby had slapped him. He didn't move his feet though. He stayed in the center of the mat as if he were stuck.

Reid was the first to understand. "Devil's Trap," he whispered, more to himself than anything.

Bobby nodded. "Good eye, kid. Now someone help me drag his ass inside. No need to get the rest of the precinct involved in our little exorcism, is there?"

Prentiss and Rossi shook their heads while Hotch's lips pressed into a firm line. He didn't say anything, just did as Bobby asked, taking one edge of the mat—with Bobby on the other—and helped tug the mat far enough into the room to close the door.

That done, Bobby grabbed the box he'd brought in from his truck and dropped it on the table. Hotch was startled at the contents. A medium sized bag of rock salt was tossed to Prentiss with the instructions to line the doors and windows like she'd seen at the Hales' house. A gallon of water with a rosary floating inside was also pulled out, along with a well-loved journal and, of all things, a Bible. It didn't look like the run-of-the-mill King James version, but there was no mistaking what it was. The last thing he produced from the box was a pair of handcuffs. Bobby tossed them at Morgan.

"Put 'em on," he told him. His voice was harder than they had even heard Hotch's get when he was angry. Each of them was glad not to be on the receiving end of it.

Morgan did as he was told and Bobby breathed a small sigh of relief. While he was sure the Devil's Trap would hold it, demons weren't his specialty. He'd only ever taken care of one or two others and their meat suits hadn't faired so well. Having him in the demon-warded cuffs would keep him from smoking out and killing the host—at least until Bobby was done with him. They still had questions that needed to be answered and this thing was the only one who could.

"First question," Bobby started, filling his flask with water from the jug. "Is the meat suit still alive?"

The thing inside Morgan laughed. "Killed him as soon as I took him. Couldn't stand the whining in my head. 'No, no, please don't hurt them. They're good cops. They didn't do anything to you. They have families, man,'" he mimicked. "It was getting old."

Bobby couldn't be sure until they got the thing out of Morgan, but he was sure it was lying.

"You're lying!" Reid cried, echoing Bobby's thoughts. Bobby barely registered the fact that the kid had moved until Hotch intercepted him.

"Reid," Hotch said, holding him back. "Calm down."

Reid didn't say anything, but Hotch was sure he was smart enough to realize that staying put was the best course of action.

The demon couldn't let such an opportunity go to waste. "Oh, poor little Spencer, crying over the death of his best friend just like you cried over Riley, like you cried over your father, and Gideon. Everyone's always leaving you. And you want me to let you in on a little secret? It's all your fault. Always has been. Do you know what it's like to live with someone like you, someone who thinks they know everything. You act like you're smarter than everyone around you, but you know what? You're just a kid here, trying to fill the shoes of your long-lost mentor and we all know you just can't cut it. Even Morgan here wants to leave. He's just too nice to say anything, but one of these days he'll be gone and it will still be your fault."

Reid was calmer now. He was used to this. These were things kept from saying to himself, but he knew there was some truth to them also. He knew he was too smart for his own good, but it that wasn't what made Gideon or his father leave. They'd had their problems long before Spencer even came into the picture. These were his darkest fears, though, laid out in front of him—the prospect that this all really was his fault. The only thing that kept the sting out of his chest as his best friend confirmed his worst nightmares was the fact that the demon was speaking in the present tense. Not 'he was,' but 'he is.' Morgan was still alive.

"You're too weak," the demon continued. "When your mother was sick, you put her in the hospital where you didn't have to look at her. You don't want to see what you're going to become." Morgan sniffed the air and licked his lips, smiling. "Oh, I can smell the taint on you. It's delicious. Your mind is all twisted up like a pretzel. And the best part? You don't even know if this is real, do you? This is crazy. Your best friend possessed by a demon? _This_ isn't crazy, _you_ are crazy. When do you think it started? With the headaches? Or was it sooner than that? Do you think this goes back to Hankel? What with being tortured by an angel and hopping on the drug superhighway, it certainly sounds plausible. Just how long do you think it will be before your team has you in a padded room down the hall from your—"

The demon's rant was cut short by his abrupt scream. Bobby stood next to him, pouring the contents of his flask over its head. "That's enough of that," he told the screaming demon. When the flask was empty, he spoke again. "One more word outta you that doesn't answer my questions and I'll inject it into your blood stream," he threatened. Other than a low snarl, it was quiet. Bobby turned over to the now-shaking younger agent. "Hey, kid." When Reid met his eyes, he continued. "Like I said, don't listen to it. You know just as well as I do that even if you were crazy, there's no way in hell your team would ever let you go through it alone. Crazy doesn't just show up. You and that big brain of yours would know in advance and your team would be here to back you up."

Reid nodded. He knew Bobby was right. This may have been crazy, but _he_ wasn't crazy.

Bobby looked toward the raven-haired woman. "Agent Prentiss, am I right?" he asked. She nodded. "Is there any way you can grab a few bottles of water? I'm not sure this'll be enough. Plus, I'll need you to make sure you can't hear Chuckles here screaming his lungs out while we question him."

Hotch paled. "I'm sure that isn't necessary," he began.

"All due respect, agent," Bobby cut him off. "It's more than necessary. This is just a grunt, a scout. The big bad is on its way here and we need information pronto. Last thing we need is a siege on our hands. We're lucky we trapped this one before it could do any damage. There's a reason I'm not going at him with a knife. All that'll do is hurt the man. Demons will stand against bullets or any other weapon we aim at it. They're stronger than we are, and faster too. It'd only take one to slaughter every cop in this building. And do you want to know what we have to stop it? This water right here," he held up the jug of holy water, "The demon will feel it like there's no tomorrow and it has the added bonus of washing its taint away from your man's soul. This demon will sing like canary, but it won't help any if every officer in a twenty mile radius can hear it."

They couldn't argue with his logic, much as they wanted more of a reassurance that Morgan would be alright. They just didn't have enough experience to question Bobby's methods.

"How can we keep them from hearing?" Rossi asked. "It's not like we can just take him out of here, can we?" he asked curiously, trying to think of a way to sneak Morgan out the back door in handcuffs.

"Don't need to. What do you think I've been doing this whole time, ya ijits? Hula dancing? I soundproofed the room. Should hold out for another few hours, but it's been a while since I've had to lay that particular bit of hoodoo and I want to make sure it's working properly. Hence, me sending Ms. Emily here out to get that water."

"Then I guess… I'll be right back," she said, back straight. She left without another word, leaving all four males slack jawed.

"That is one strong woman," Bobby chuckled, impressed.

"You're telling me," Rossi said.

"Well, let's get this show on the road," Bobby said, facing the demon with a grim expression. "I don't suppose you'll just cooperate?"

"Never," it snarled.

"Didn't think so, but you'll change that tune in time."


	9. Penny

It didn't take as much holy water as Bobby thought to change the demon's mind. But as helpful as he was, there was only one option. The handcuffs came off and the exorcism spell was chanted. Bobby let Reid do the honors. After what the kid had been through, he deserved to rid the world of some true evil.

The demon smoked out, leaving Morgan on the ground, gasping for air. The team reached out to help him, but Bobby held them back. "Don't touch him just yet," Bobby cautioned them. "He's a bit sensitive right now and it'll bring him more pain than comfort."

Reid scowled, Hotch's lips pressed together in a firm line, Prentiss fought back tears, and Rossi's frown deepened, but none of them moved from their spots. Hotch didn't know when they'd started trusting Bobby, but there was no doubting that they _did_ trust him.

Morgan retched but nothing came up. Tears streamed down his face, but he didn't wipe them away. He pushed himself back against the wall, trembling, just staring down at his hands.

Reid looked questioningly at Bobby and at his slight nod, moved to kneel down next to Morgan, careful not to touch him. "Are you alright?" Reid asked, cursing himself for sounding so young and scared.

Morgan looked up at him, startled to find someone so close to him. He'd been too zoned out to realize. "Yeah," he said, voice cracking slightly as if he'd been screaming. He had been, he remembered. The trembling in his hands increased at the memory. "I'll be okay, just give me a minute."

Reid nodded and stood up, surprised to see that Bobby was gone. "Where'd Bobby go?" he asked the team.

"He said he'd be right back," Rossi told him.

Reid's brows creased in concern.

"I wouldn't worry too much about it," Hotch said. "He's not the type to just abandon us here without a clue, especially after what the demon said about…" he trailed off, unable to repeat what he's heard. It sounded so real in his head, but saying it aloud would make it seem illusory, too ridiculous to his own ears to be true.

Before they could grow concerned with his disappearance, Bobby was back. He knelt down in front of Morgan and handed over the makeshift ice pack he brought with him. Morgan accepted it gratefully, pressing it immediately to his face, not caring that the ice was freezing his skin. "Still burns?" Bobby asked knowingly.

"Yeah," Morgan said. "Thanks." He indicated to the ice.

"It's no problem." Bobby reached into his jacket pocket and held out a piece of paper. "Here," he said.

Morgan looked at the paper before taking it. On it, what looked like a star inside of a flaming circle was drawn elaborately in black ink. It was vaguely familiar, but Morgan couldn't place where he could have seen it before. "What is it?" he asked the older man, accepting the paper.

"Consider it a sorry excuse for an apology," Bobby told him gruffly. "It's an anti-possession sigil. I saw your ink. Tattoo that anywhere on your body and, so long as it ain't broken, it'll keep the demons from riding you."

Morgan winced.

"I'm sorry," Bobby said earnestly. "I didn't think to ask about other members of the team. If I'd've known, I probably could have stopped it from happening." He paused for a moment. "Oh, and here." He handed Morgan a necklace like the ones the rest of the team were wearing. "This'll keep 'em out until you can get to a shop. No need to rush. There's only about three confirmed demonic possessions every year, so chances are there's nothing to worry about." He tried to smile reassuringly.

"I think I'll get the tattoo anyway," Morgan said, slipping the necklace over his shoulders. "Just in case."

Bobby smiled. "I kinda figured." He stood up straight and offered his hand to help Morgan up.

He hesitated, but took the hand and stretched out his limbs. There was still a slight tremor in his hands, but it was nothing like the earlier trembling. The ice helped also. He was still too hot—probably would be for a while—but he wasn't burning anymore, so he counted that as a plus. He could still function and they had a job to do.

"Wait," Reid said, worried. "You said 'other members of the team.'"

Bobby nodded.

"Garcia," he said, panicking now. "What about Penelope?"

"Morgan," Hotch said.

He was already dialing.

"Penelope Garcia?" Bobby asked.

"She's our technical analyst," Hotch clarified.

"Penelope _Grace_ Garcia?" Bobby asked, a sad, but hopeful, expression on his face.

"Yes," Hotch said, slowly.

"Parents died in a car crash fifteen years ago? That Penelope Garcia?" he pressed.

Hotch nodded, confused. "How do you know a member of my team?"

Bobby ignored him and turned angrily to Morgan. "Give me your phone," he said in a no-nonsense tone.

Morgan looked to Hotch.

Bobby didn't wait to see what his answer would be, instead snatching the phone out of the agent's hand and growling into the receiver. "_Penelope Grace Garcia,"_ he scolded. _"Don't you ever think about doing this to me again… Don't you 'Uncle Bobby' me, girl. It's been eight years! I thought you were dead! Had everyone within a thousand mile radius looking for you. And where do I find you? The FBI! What the hell were you thinking?!"_ He sucked in a jagged breath while she spoke. When he spoke again, his voice was quieter. All the fight just drained out of him. "I know," he told her. "I'm sorry. I just… It's good to know you're alive, that's all… Yeah… I'm here helping your team with a case… Nothing long term, anyway. Morgan was possessed, but we got it out safely… Yeah, don't worry. Just make sure to call more often, okay Penny? It's good hearing your voice… Yeah… Hold on." Bobby held the phone out to Morgan. "She wants to talk to you."

"No, Baby Girl. I'm fine, really…" Bobby heard him say. If he knew his goddaughter, she wouldn't lay off of him until he was back in Virginia. She'd always been a worrier. Bobby chuckled.

"You didn't answer my question before," Hotch said, standing next to him. "How do you know a member of my team?"

"Her father was my best friend. We were partners, Hunted together for a long time. Made me Penny's godfather after she was born. She went off the grid almost ten years ago. Honestly thought she was gone. Haven't heard a peep from her until now, but working for the FBI, I'm not surprised."

"Why would that make a difference?" Hotch asked. "I understand that keeping the authorities out of… the occult… is important, but I still don't understand how that relates to your skepticism. We are here to help after all."

Bobbie scoffed, but Hotch could see that he was more amused than anything. "Maybe I can enlighten you a bit. Hey Spencer, can you give me the top ten of the FBI's Most Wanted List?"

"Sure," he said. "Let's see, um, there's Rufus Turner, Daniel Elkins, Christopher Hendrickson, Mary Jefferson, William Harvelle, Caleb Quinn, Derek Mosley, Samuel Perretti, Gordon Walker, and Steve Wendell."

Bobby nodded his thanks and turned his attention back to Hotch. "With the kind of work we do, the law tends to be the enemy. When I step in the middle of a nest of hungry vampires, the last thing I think about is what the cops are gonna think of the decapitation and burning. All I think about is putting down the monsters so families can rest easy and whether or not I'm going to live to see the next day. Grave desecration, murder, kidnapping, torture. Those are the crimes that get people put on the top ten list. That list Spencer just recited? Seven out of those ten names belong to some of the best Hunters I know. They're the kind of people who sacrifice themselves on a daily basis to save people they don't even know. In a way, they're like your team. They fight the worst this world has to offer, but unlike you, they're hunted for it.

"The law doesn't help people like us, Agent Hotchner. Maybe now you can understand why Penny didn't want me to find her. She joined the enemy. In most Hunters' books, that would make her worse than a monster because she chose to become what she is. Monsters can't help what they are. They're evil creatures with one-track minds, but people have a choice. And choosing to join the law instead of fighting on the front lines is one of the worst betrayals most Hunters can imagine."

"Do you consider yourself one of those Hunters?" Hotch asked.

Bobby smiled. "I do," he confirmed. "But the difference is, I believe family is family, no matter what we choose. You're good people, some of the best I've met." He paused. "I know she helps save people, even if it isn't in the way I want her to. She's still family and I'm gonna make sure she stays that way now that I've got her back."


	10. Full Tilt

Dean led Sammy through the mall, looking for an arcade. He knew why his father uncharacteristically dropped them off at the mall. Dad wanted him to find another girl. Dean was angry. He didn't like being treated like a kid. He didn't know who he was looking for, but he would know her when he found her. There was something missing from the last one. He'd even been a little relieved when she had that seizure. He just couldn't imagine taking care of her forever. She was too strong to need him, he realized. It was probably because of her condition. She wasn't weak and helpless like his dad thought. If anything, she was the opposite. She was a fighter.

On a Hunt, his father was right, she would be a liability. He wouldn't be able to look out for her if she went down without warning like she had in the RV. She would end up dead and nothing he could do would be able to stop it, but that wasn't what had him worried. If they went on a Hunt together, she'd need someone to watch her back, but after that… after that, there would be nothing. She was sweet and kind and happy, but she didn't need him like he would need her. He needed someone to look at him the way he remembered his mom looking at his dad.

_That_ was what he was looking for. Not someone who was pretty or outgoing or shy, just someone who would come to rely on him. Someone who knew that, no matter what, they could come to him for help and he would never turn her away. Someone who would see him for who he was and still love him. He knew that no one would do that right away to someone she just met. He wasn't stupid. But it was the _possibility_ he was looking for. No matter what, the other little girl wouldn't have been able to be that person for him. But he'd been given a second chance and he didn't want to waste it. He would wait until he found the _perfect_ girl. Who cares what his dad wanted? This was _Dean's_ family, not John's.

The arcade wasn't much to look at. They'd kept up with the recent games, but the classics were lacking in the maintenance department. Dean wondered if they'd let him play for free if he could fix them up. It wouldn't be the first time. A few years back—in Idaho, he thought, or maybe Nevada—there was an old _Contra_ game in the bar next to their hotel that was broken. Dean fixed her up easy and the bartender let him play for hours—for _free_. He knew his way around a circuit board just as well, if not better, than he knew his way around a computer. Ash taught them good. Holed up at the Roadhouse for weeks on end while Dad tried to slip the FBI and he'd had plenty of time to learn a lot of things.

Maybe he would talk to the manager. He counted six glitches and two that were completely shut down. It wouldn't take him two hours to fix them so long as the main boards weren't totally fried. He wouldn't be able to do anything for them but replace them completely.

"Hey, Sammy," he told his brother. "Stay here. Don't leave the arcade, okay? I'm gonna go see if I can get us some free games." Worst case scenario, he could hustle a few games of air hockey, provided the table still worked.

"Ok," Sam said. He turned to a shooter game and slipped in his first two quarters. The guns were never calibrated correctly, but it would only take him a second to reorient himself and his reflexes would make it a long game. He would get his money's worth.

Satisfied that Sam would be alright without him for a few minutes, dean went to the ticket counter and asked for the manager.

The manager was a big, burly man that reminded him of his father. Definitely military, at least formerly. His facial hair wasn't in reg, so Dean assumed he'd been out for a while. Dean stood up straight and squared his shoulders. He knew how to make this man listen. "Sir," he said, holding his hand out to shake.

"What is it, boy?" he asked, not unkindly. His voice was gruff, probably intimidating to most people, but Dean wasn't impressed. He had his dad to compare him to after all.

"I have a proposition for you," he said. Dean may have been only fourteen, but he could pass for older if he tried hard enough. He still hadn't hit his growth spurt, but it wasn't uncommon and he wasn't small enough to be mistaken for any younger than his age. Hopefully, this man assumed he was older than he was. It would make things easier for him. Dean didn't wait for the man to respond, instead plunging on ahead. "You have two machines completely shut down and six that are glitchy. After school crowd will be here in," he looked at his watch, "just under three hours."

"Your point?" the manager asked, crossing his arms. Obviously business wasn't going so well and having machines down wasn't something he could afford.

"I can fix 'em, easy. You don't have to trust me with the glitchy ones if you don't want to, but there's not much more I can do to wreck the other two. Give me a chance and worst case, you have a still-broken machine."

The manager considered it for a moment before shaking his head. "Don't have any money to give you, kid, even if I wanted to."

Dean grinned. "I have money. What I want is free play for me and my little brother. Tokens, not cash," he elaborated. "It won't cost you a dime and I know I can get at least one of them up before the kids show up." Dean didn't mention that he could have one going strong in under twenty minutes.

Whether it was something in his face, or just the manager's desperation, Dean didn't know. But he nodded.

"Just need a screwdriver," Dean told him.

The first arcade game—_Flyspeed 2_, some racing game that looked like it had been played into the ground—was completely fried. Dean wasn't surprised. That meant had supplies to use for the second machine, though. The second machine—_PacMan_, a classic—was almost in mint condition. He unstuck the coin slots, replaced a few wires with ones he'd taken from the first machine, cleaned out all the dust, and gave it a quick upgrade using his cell phone. He sent a silent thanks to Ash for his in depth sessions over the years. He'd thank him next time he saw him.

The manager came to check on him just as he was disconnecting his phone from the machine. He looked more curious than angry so Dean just left him, choosing to put the wires in their proper spots and screw the back plate on. "Mind giving it a push for me?" Dean asked. It was too far from the wall to plug it in.

The manager nodded and shoved the machine toward the outlet.

"Thanks. Would you like to do the honor?" Dean asked, holding up the power chord.

"Nah, you go ahead, kid. This, I have to see."

Dean grinned and nodded. "Yes, sir."

The machine took a minute to power up, but when the screen came on, Dean enjoyed the look of surprise on his face.

"Fixed up the coin slot, too," he told the man. "You might wanna think about de-gunking it every month or so, clean it out so the sensor can register the coins easier," he suggested. "Want me to start on the glitchy ones? It'll take longer to write the codes, but I can get 'em to run faster at least. And the coin slots need a little TLC as well."

"What about that one?" he asked Dean, pointing at _Flyspeed 2_.

"Fried. I used some of the wires to fix this one," he patted _PacMan_. "and put the dummies in that machine. No one should know I was messing with it so if you bring someone in to replace the boards, everything should be fine. I didn't void the warrantee or anything," he smirked. "If you want me to get started on the other machines, I wanna get my brother first. No need to have him wasting any more of his quarters."

The manager nodded and Dean took off to find Sammy.

He wasn't where Dean left him, but Dean didn't worry too much about that. It had been almost fifteen minutes after all. His attention span would have him seeking out another game every few minutes. Dean combed the isles of games, keeping an eye out for the tuft of too-long hair and dark green _Ninja Turtles_ jacket. He spotted him by the air hockey table toward the front of the arcade. Three kids surrounded him, but Sammy didn't look distressed so Dean wasn't worried. Even at ten, Sam could handle himself.

"Hey, Sammy," Dean called. "You good?"

One of the boys watched him carefully as he walked to flank his younger brother. If something went down, he wanted Sam to know he had his back. From the few bucks scattered on the floor, Dean knew what had happened. Sam should have known better than to try to scam these guys. They wouldn't take well to losing, especially to a squirt like Sammy.

"Yeah, Dean," he said calmly, not taking his eyes off the other boys.

"These some friends of yours?" Dean asked, glaring at the other boys and crossing his arms protectively.

"Yep," he said. "But they're leaving now. Hafta run home for lunch."

The boy in the middle moved to shove Sam, but Dean was there before he could come close. Using a move he'd just learned two weeks ago, he had the boy flat on his ass in seconds. Dean stood protectively in front of Sam. "So sorry," he said, voice hard. "Didn't mean to trip you like that. Just clumsy, I guess." He shrugged nonchalantly. "You better get home before your parents start to worry about you."

They left with nothing more than a quick glare thrown over the shoulder of the kid Dean had knocked down. Dean wasn't worried. The kid was a pansy.

"You good, Sam?" Dean asked, looking behind him at his brother who was now crouched behind the air hockey table.

"You okay?" he heard Sam ask quietly.

Dean walked closer and saw a little girl he hadn't noticed before. Her hair was cut so short he would have thought she was a boy. If she wasn't wearing a frilly yellow shirt with tiny flowers on it, he wouldn't have even realized. She was small, but looked older than Sam. Her voice was quiet when she mumbled. "'m fine." A slow blush crawled on her face when she saw Dean. "Hi," she said.

She was cute and Dean realized a small blush coloring his face as well. He hoped Sammy wouldn't see. "Hey," he said. "You alright? What happened?" He crouched down to her level and her cheeks, if it was even possible, got pinker.

Sammy answered for her. "She was trying to hustle some kids at air hockey. I came over to look for you but then I saw those boys had her against the wall. I pushed them back, but you got here before a real fight could start."

Dean was glad it hadn't escalated into a fight. Sammy could handle himself a little too well sometimes. "Good," Dean told him. "I don't want you fighting until you can learn to pull a punch. The last thing we need is you going off half-cocked and breaking something that can get us into serious trouble."

Sam grimaced, but didn't contradict him. He knew Dean was right.

"C'mon," he told them, standing up. "I'm fixing up a few games in the back." He led them to the back where one of the employees was playing the _PacMan_ game he'd just fixed. Dean didn't try to squelch the swell of pride he felt knowing he'd been the one to fix it. They walked past him, though, and up to the ticket counter where the manager was waiting for him with a small cupful of tokens and a smile.

"For your services," the manager told him, handing him the cup.

Dean gave them to Sam. "Here," he said. "You guys go play. I have a few more machines to fix. Might be a while."

Sam's smile faded. "You're not gonna play?"

"Nah," he said, shrugging. "I've got work to do."

Sammy got an idea. "Can I help? You know it'll be faster with both of us and then we can both play."

Dean pretended to think about it before he nodded. Sam was better at the code stuff than he was. Dean was more of a hands-on type person.

"Can I help, too?" the little girl asked in a small voice.

Dean startled. "Why not?" he told her.

The smile she gave him was blinding. He felt his heart stutter a bit in his chest and couldn't help but smile in return. He grabbed her hand and pulled her in the direction of the first glitchy game and only released it to pull the game out and unscrew the back plate. Sam got started on the programming and Dean led the girl to the front to disassemble the coin slot. "What's your name?" he asked.

"Lisa," she said.

"I'm Dean," he smiled.

"Hi," she said again and he chuckled.

"How's this? I'll show you how to clean out the coin slots that way you can work on that while I dust out the inside. That sound good?"

Lisa nodded.

It took them an hour to get through all six machines, but Dean barely noticed the time passing at all. He kept watching Lisa work, wondering if she was _the one_. She was nice and smart and pretty and she kept watching him like he was watching her. He was so caught up in that thought that he didn't notice his phone buzz with a text message from his father.


	11. Winchester

It was three days before the BAU got the call. John Winchester was in custody at the 23rd precinct in Pearce County, Arizona. They ran his fingerprints through the national database and Garcia's stuttered, "oh," was all they got before the printers went berserk. JJ had her hands full with stacks of files that she'd assembled of John Winchester's escapades. Bobby just stood to the side, grinning like a fool.

"There's a reason every baddie in the northern hemisphere is after him," Bobby said at their flustered looks. "He's the best damn Hunter I know. Specializes in everything so far as I'm concerned. If it's out there, he's taken it down a time or two. Saved more lives than I can count."

"If he's such a great guy," Rossi said, "why are you helping us catch him?"

Bobby looked him straight in the eye. "Because there are just some lines you don't cross. Hunters forget sometimes with everything out there that people can do bad things too. But when they step over that line, there's no going back. John's been toeing that line for years, but he crossed it when he kidnapped an innocent little girl for no reason other than pure selfishness. And I'll be damned if I'm gonna let him drag his boys down that same path. They get it in their heads that the world owes them so much that they can pull someone's life from under them, they're no better than the demons in my book."

Rossi nodded, satisfied with the answer.

John Winchester was wanted in six states for crimes ranging from credit card fraud to mass murder. Without a name, there was no linking the crimes but for fingerprints left at a few of the scenes. Until the BAU was put on the case, no one had ever linked the crimes together—and with good reason. The murders were so diverse that they seemed as if they were done by completely different people. Other than the skill and heavy planning involved in each case, everything varied. Exsanguination and decapitation in Nevada. Gun shot to the head in Arkansas. Missing organs and two victims shot through the heart, the bullets and casings never recovered. And in every hotel, salt and sigils. The credit cards tied him to the states during the time of a few of the murders, but many of them had been going on for months or years before Winchester even showed up.

Now that the BAU had the pattern, they could see just how many people Winchester had saved, and just how long he'd been saving them. It had been going on for years. There were a few pings from before his stint in the military, but things really picked up after the death of his wife. Hotch didn't have to imagine what it was like to be there when his wife died. He had a similar experience with Haley's death. He knew just how that would affect this man. They had more than enough information to hold him for years, but the thought didn't comfort Hotch. Bobby was right, Winchester was a hero. He saved more people in a year than Hotch had in his entire career. But that wasn't all Bobby was right about. There are just some lines you don't cross and, unfortunately, Winchester had crossed one.

Garcia was flying out to meet them in Arizona. Hotch didn't like the idea of putting their tech analyst in the path of the yellow-eyed demon, but he couldn't deny having her there would help them immensely, especially seeing as she had experience with this sort of thing.

Compared to other flights he'd taken—of which there were many thanks to his job—time passed rather quickly. It seemed just a matter of minutes before the jet touched down and they were speeding—just barely—to the precinct.

John Winchester was calm and collected. Despite the fact that he was in an orange coverall and had both his wrists and ankles shackled, he seemed almost relaxed. A small smirk played on his face and with the skills Hotch knew he possessed, he wasn't surprised. Strike that, he was only surprised Winchester had allowed himself to be caught and hadn't escaped before they could interview him.

"Morgan, Prentiss," he said. "I want you both in there. Keep your necklaces showing. When he sees them, he'll assume you're Hunters and he'll respect your alpha-type personalities. Neither of his sons were with him when he was caught so they are your number one priority. We need to find them before anything else can."

Morgan slipped the necklace back over his neck. The first opportunity he'd had, he found a tattoo shop and put the anti-possession sigil over his shoulder blade. Surprisingly, Reid had come with him, getting one tattooed on his hip. He wouldn't explain why. Now, though, the point was to show Winchester that they were as much a part of his team as they were the government's. A tattoo on his back wouldn't help that so he made sure the charm was showing plainly over his black t-shirt. He watched Prentiss adjust hers so it was tighter around her neck, almost like a collar, before walking toward the interview room.

"Wait," Bobby called to them. "Give him this." He handed over a bottle of water. "And don't relax your stance or come within arms reach until he drinks it, but that's just good common sense. Better get used to testing your friends and family."

"Holy water?" Prentiss asked.

Bobby nodded.

They waited until Bobby was out of sight from the door before they entered the room. It wouldn't do them any favors for Winchester to know a fellow Hunter was helping to convict him.

Morgan made sure to close the door securely, keeping his eyes on Winchester. His eyes tightened with suspicion at the man and he stayed the room's length away from him, preferring to stand against the wall opposite the man rather than the chair in front of him. Prentiss came closer to him than Morgan did, but only for the half second it took to set the water in front of him. She then came to stand just in front of Morgan,

"Thirsty?" she asked.

Winchester merely smirked at her until his eyes hatched onto her necklace. She could feel the scrutiny of his gaze on her as he realized she was more than just an agent of the FBI. His eyes flickered over to the man just behind her. He stayed on Morgan longer than he had on her, but he must have realized that the necklace wasn't just something she saw at the swap meet. He opened the bottle of water and took a large swig.

"Satisfied?" he asked.

Prentiss let her shoulders sag just slightly in relief. No reason to overplay it, though if she was honest with herself, she had been a bit tense at the prospect that the water would cause his skin to smoke like Morgan's had when he was possessed.

Morgan nodded at him and chose that moment to pull up a seat. "John Winchester," Morgan said. "My name is Derek Morgan. This is Emily Prentiss. We're here to ask you a few questions about—"

"You both Hunters?" he interrupted.

Morgan and Prentiss both exchanged a look before the elder agent answered slowly. "I'm not sure I understand your meaning," he said.

"Sir," Prentiss pulled his attention before he could respond. "What brought you to Pearce County?"

"Poltergeist," John said, gauging their reactions.

Both agents were surprised at his blatant admission, but they weren't skeptical.

"No Hunter I know would team up with the FBI," he said. "So what was it?"

"What was what?" Prentiss asked. She knew he was leading the interview, but the more he talked, the better their chances of finding Dean and Sam.

"What brought you into the game?" Winchester elaborated, still being vague in case the cameras were rolling.

"Possession," Morgan answered, wincing slightly.

"I'm sorry," Winchester said sincerely. He knew how horrible the feeling was, the burning sensation that lingered for months after the fact, the smell of smoke, the nightmares filled with the anguished cries of the tortured souls in Hell.

Morgan nodded at him, accepting the apology.

"We know that you're a Hunter," Prentiss said before the silence became uncomfortable. "We know about the vamps in Nevada, the ghouls in Denver. We know about New York, Colorado, Aransas, Kentucky."

"So what?" John said. "You already know I'm not responsible for those murders. Why are you holding me?"

"We know," Prentiss continued as if he hadn't spoken, "that in those states, you aren't responsible for anything more than simple credit card fraud, maybe a case or two of breaking and entering—none of which can really be tied to you, I might add."

"But there's a line," Morgan said, taking a page from Bobby's book. "And you crossed it when you kidnapped Catherine Scheuren."

Winchester's walls slammed down harder than Morgan and Prentiss thought possible. Any leeway they'd made in establishing trust was ruined with that last sentence.

"You know we're right, John," Prentiss said. "You crossed a line and you're going to prison for it. We can get the rest of the charges dropped, and we will. You've done a lot of good over the years and there's no reason for you to be punished for it. But Cate has already identified you as her kidnapper and there's no sound excuse for taking a ten year old girl from her parents when no monsters are involved. I'm sorry, John."

"We know there's something after you and your boys," Morgan said. "We can set you up at a medium-security prison that'll give you enough room to maneuver for a cloaking sigil or two like you did at Cate's. You'll be safe. But your boys are sitting ducks for that demon," he said, eyes staring boldly into Winchester's. "You really love your boys, you'll tell us where they are so we can keep them moving, keep them safe. We aren't like any other form of law you've met over the years. We _know_. And we know we can keep them from getting hurt."

Winchester didn't say anything. He just stared at the table, wondering how things could change so abruptly. He barely noticed when Morgan and Prentiss left him alone, cuffed to the interrogation room table.


	12. Come With Me

"Well," Bobby said, readjusting his cap. "John wouldn't leave his boys anywhere insecure for long. You said you checked all the hotels for one of his aliases?"

"Yep," Penelope said. "Nothing even close to suspicious at the local motels, hotels, or anything in between. I even made calls to the ones that hadn't updated their databases in the last few hours and I've got nothing, nada, zip, zilch, zero. I'm running out of ideas here, guys."

"Have you made any headway with the computer?" Hotch asked.

"The encryption on the laptop is so tight that, without the password, I can't open it. What I _can _tell you is that it's set to wipe everything if it's not reset twelve hours after lockdown."

"How long do we have, Baby Girl?" Morgan asked.

"We're looking at… seven hours and thirty-two minutes."

"So if we haven't found the boys by that time, we pretty much don't have a chance," Rossi surmised.

"Not necessarily," Prentiss said, voicing her thought aloud. "If he didn't leave them at a hotel, where else would he be comfortable leaving them?"

No one answered, letting her mind work the question out for itself.

"They'd taken Cate to the hospital and skipped town—crossed the country, even."

"They're starting over," Morgan realized.

"Precisely. And that means they'd be looking for another girl."

"They could have picked one up on the way. There was plenty of time and opportunity," Rossi argued.

"No… I don't think so. If they had a kidnapped girl with them, Winchester would never leave her alone with his sons unless he was sure she was subdued enough not to cause them any problems. That means a hotel room and Garcia already ruled out everything in a fifty mile radius."

"I think she's right," Hotch interjected. "Prentiss, I want you and Reid to talk with Cate and find out everything she did in the days leading up to the abduction. She was taken from her bedroom so Winchester must have scouted beforehand. I want to know where he would have made first contact."

"Right." Her and Reid left immediately, not wanting to waste more time.

"Morgan, I want you back in that room with Winchester. You and Prentiss were onto something when you spoke about his sons. He may have twisted his family's traditions, but in his mind, he's doing this to keep his boys safe. We can use that."

Morgan nodded and walked into the interrogation room with Winchester.

"Rossi, you and Mr. Singer see if you can find something in Winchester's journal that could give us a clue to his encryption password. The sooner we break it, the better chance we'll have at finding the boys. JJ, you and I will deal with the press. The last thing we need is for Dean and Sam to see that their father was arrested. If they realize we have him in custody, they'll go off the grid."

"You really think they can do that?" she asked, astonished. "They're just kids."

Hotch nodded. "I think they'll do what they've been taught. John Winchester is a cautious man—borderline paranoid, and with good reason. He'll have made sure they know how to live off the grid on their own for a long time. And if they run, we won't be able to find them."

"Anything for me, sir?" Garcia asked, wanting to be of some use.

"Yes. I want you to compile a list of public places you think Winchester might have his sons. If they aren't at a hotel, he wouldn't leave them in a secluded area where things are more likely to attack. Check malls, strips, tourist hotspots, got it?"

"Got it," she affirmed, fingers flying across her keyboard.

"Good." And with that, Hotch follow JJ out the door.

CM~SPN~CM~SPN

Once the afternoon crowd claimed the arcade, Dean and Sam bolted with a single nod at the manager and a little girl in tow. It was well past lunch time, but since neither Sam nor Dean had eaten since the previous afternoon, they figured it was time for lunch.

The food court was bigger than they expected and twenty dollars went a long way as far as food was concerned. Dean ordered a burger, fries, and shake for each of them and when Lisa tried to pay, Dean turned her down. He'd known something was up with her the moment she left the arcade with them. It was one thing for parents to leave their kid in an arcade while they were shopping, it was quite another for that kid to be hustling older teenagers for cash and then leaving with the first ones who paid attention. Sure, Dad left them alone all the time, but he was old enough, smart enough, and experienced enough to know that wasn't normal. Lisa couldn't have been more than twelve years old. Was that old enough to be at the mall alone, especially one this big? Dean didn't know, but he knew that the best thing was to just ask.

"If I ask you a question, promise you won't get mad?" Dean asked.

Lisa was immediately on edge, but she nodded slowly. Even if her mouth wasn't stuffed with equal parts burger and fries, Dean didn't think she would have spoken.

He waited until she swallowed before asking, "Where are your parents?"

"They're shopping," she said immediately, looking anywhere but at him.

Sam spoke up then, puppy dog eyes blaring at her. "We know you're lying, Lisa. Why were you trying to hustle those boys in the arcade?" he asked.

"Because I needed the money," she admitted.

"Where are your parents?" Dean asked again, softer this time. He knew it was nothing good.

She looked at him then, eyes swimming to the brim with tears that she wiped away immediately. "They're dead," she told him, quietly.

"Foster care?" Sam asked.

Lisa nodded. "They probably don't even know I'm gone." Her eyes flashed then, looking more determined than Dean had seen them. "I'm not going back either."

Sam was already nodding. "We won't make you," he said.

"Actually," Dean said slowly, surprising Sammy. He looked into her eyes and watched as the hardness drained away at his next statement. "We want you to come with us. We travel a lot so we don't really have a home other than the Impala. And we don't have a mom either, but me and Dad and Sammy are a family. You can be part of our family too." He was blushing now. "Well, if you want," he added, unsure whether she would take him up on the offer. They didn't ask the other girl if she wanted to be a part of his family, but he knew what her answer would have been. She had a mom and a dad and a good life to leave behind. It was nothing that he would have said yes to if he'd been in her shoes.

But Lisa was different. She didn't have any family and the one she was placed in didn't care about her. Dean had never known that feeling. Even after his mom was gone, he knew that his dad and Sammy loved him. She was stronger than he was, but she didn't have anyone to show her that. Dean looked away, embarrassed to discover that he didn't just want her to say yes. He _needed_ her to. All his hopes were placed on the shoulders of the girl in front of him and he was too unsure to know whether they were misplaced or not.

Lisa thought about it. _Really_ thought about it. It took her a long time to answer, but when she did, the huge grins that sprouted on both of the boys' faces told her that she'd chosen the right one. She had a family—a broken one, she knew—but still a family. She hugged her new brothers tightly before dissolving into a fit of laughter at the new life she had in front of her. She wasn't alone anymore. She had a _family_.

"I need to call Dad," Dean was saying. Lisa realized she'd zoned out a little in the rush of her discovery. "He's gonna be happy to meet you," he assured her. Some of her panic must have shown on her face. Then he did something she wasn't expecting. He kissed her on the cheek. From the look on his face, he was surprised he'd done it also.

The small smile on his face vanished when he opened his phone. Sam was on him immediately. "Dean. What is it? What's wrong?"

"I missed a text from Dad," he said. He showed Sam the phone and his smile was gone also.

"What did he say?" Lisa asked quietly. Whatever had affected them must have been something bad. But when she looked at the screen, it was just a random jumble of numbers and letters.

"There's some stuff we were gonna wait to tell you," Dean hedged. "But Dad's in trouble and now we have to help him." He looked to Sam for help. He wasn't good at the explanation stuff. That was Sammy's department.

"Dean, Dad, and I," Sam took over. "We travel for a reason. And sometimes we get into a lot of trouble with the law. It's always a misunderstanding," he affirmed. "We're the good guys, I swear. But Dad always has the worst timing and he gets in trouble for it. A lot."

"We're going to do a lot of dangerous stuff," Dean told her. "Especially now that Dad's in trouble. You have to tell me now if you want to back out," he said, sadly. "Because once we do this, there's no going back."

Lisa had already made her decision. Sam had stood up for her. Sam _and_ Dean. They treated her like she was special. They made her feel good. She knew that, even if they caused some trouble, they were _good_. She hadn't met the dad yet, but if Sam said he was good also, then she would trust them. Who else could you trust besides family? She told them so.

Dean's smile was beaming.

Lisa didn't think she could ever get used to seeing it.

"Well, Dean," Sam said. "I hope you have a plan, 'cause I've got nothing."

Dean's smile turned cocky. Actually, he _did_ have a plan.


	13. The Plan

Dean's plan would never work, Sam thought. But he helped him with it anyway. They hit a department store first to gather supplies. They pulled their money together and came up with twenty-nine dollars and a small handful of change. It wasn't enough money for half of the items they needed, but what they couldn't buy, Dean could pocket. He didn't like having to take the risk, but it couldn't be helped.

Supplies came down to a dozen items: a small tin of paperclips, table salt (pure, 100% undiluted of course), a black permanent marker, a ballpoint pen, a prepaid cell phone that took the majority of their money, a pair of running shoes, blue jeans and a Led Zeppelin t-shirt, black hair dye, two gallons of water, and a comb.

With the price of the phone, they'd had to steal most everything else. Dean drew an anti-possession symbol on Lisa's shoulder—better to be safe than sorry—and had her change into the clothes they'd stolen. With her short hair, she passed for a boy better than Sammy did. Dean worked on Sam next. Dying his hair was tough because there wasn't any privacy, but they found a family restroom in the mall with a sink inside next to the toilet so there wasn't a camera to see them. Sammy's hair was naturally light and the black hair dye made him look much different, especially when they combed it out to fall further into his face than normal. They'd done this before when CPS was on their trail, but Dean had forgotten just how much time it took to fix someone's hair like that, especially when they didn't have any time to waste.

He set Sam on the task of blessing the water while he set up their prepaid phone. That done, they were ready. Dean just hoped the Winchester luck would run out so maybe everything could go according to plan for once.

CM~SPN~CM~SPN

Garcia's list was coming along, but there were too many possibilities and no way to narrow down the list of places John Winchester would have taken his children. Penelope wasn't even sure that he'd dropped them in a public place at all. For all they knew, Winchester had a safe house nearby. If so, they were screwed six ways from Sunday and any chance of finding the boys relied on them contacting one of the few Hunters that Bobby had on the lookout—none of whom were happy that Bobby was helping the feds.

Prentiss and Reid's findings just confirmed that the best place to be on the lookout for the boys were the many public places already on Garcia's list. Neither Bobby nor Rossi were making any headway in deciphering Winchester's journal.

It was obviously important to the man. Bobby made a comment about a Hunter's journal being the collective of all the knowledge a Hunter had to offer. With Winchester's experience, they knew just how useful the information would be. That is, if they could understand it. The whole journal was written in some type of code that even Bobby couldn't think to break—and he'd had to break a code more than once when a Hunter passed and left their journal behind.

Hotch and JJ took care of the press, but it wouldn't be long before they started getting antsy. Knowing the FBI had a suspect in custody that was wanted in six states, even if they didn't know who it was just yet, was enough to bring the vultures to town. And having a team like the BAU in Pearce County brought every small time journalist and blogger flocking as well. John Winchester wouldn't remain a secret for long.

Winchester had shut down completely. Morgan couldn't drag a word from the man. Using his sons against him just seemed to strengthen his resolve not to speak to the feds. Whether they knew about Hunting or not, the law was the law. Morgan couldn't get any more information from the man than he'd given earlier—not that that was much to begin with.

They were all back to, maybe not square one, but to wherever they had been when they arrived in Arizona. This time, though, they were faced with the possibility that Dean and Samuel Winchester wouldn't be found. Morgan hadn't just been trying to manipulate Winchester by using his son's safety against him. He honestly believed what he had said. Those two boys were sitting ducks for that yellow-eyed freak that was after them. He had no doubts that they'd been training for this their entire lives, but that didn't make them ready for whatever storm was headed their way. Hell, he didn't even think John Winchester was ready for it and to hear the way Bobby talked about the man, he was one of the best Hunters out there. And that was carrying two kids with him for the last ten years!

Their break came in the form of one Dean Winchester.

With the entire team inside the small storage room the precinct had set up for them to use, trying to narrow down their geographical profile, John Winchester's cell phone rang.

Hotch quirked a brow, but picked up the phone. He put it on speaker. "Hello?"

"Who's this?" the voice asked.

Behind him, he could hear Morgan whispering at Garcia to trace the call.

"My name is Aaron Hotchner," he said. "Who am I speaking to?"

"You're not a cop," he was certain of himself. "FBI?" he questioned.

Hotch hesitated for a moment, wondering whether he should lie. "Yes," he went with the truth. "My team and I are here from Virginia as part of the Behavioral Analysis Unit. Can you tell me where you are, Dean?"

Dean chuckled, not surprised they knew who he was. "Better idea," he said. "How about you tell me where you are and I'll come to you." When Hotch didn't answer, he continued. "Seriously, I'll come. I want to see my dad, make sure he's okay."

Hotch believed him. "We're at the 23rd Precinct in Pearce County. Do you need directions or a ride?" he asked.

"Nope," Dean said. "I can be there in… a half hour. Just one more question, Hotch. Is my dad there with you? Is he alright?" The concern in the boy's voice was palpable.

"Yes," Hotch said. "He's here and he's fine. For now," he admonished.

The call disconnected and Hotch stared at the phone in his hands with confusion.

"Am I the only one who thinks that call was weird?" Morgan asked.

Bobby chuckled. "You don't know the Winchester boys."

"They're resourceful," Hotch said. "Garcia, did you get a trace on them?"

"Sorry, sir. It came from a payphone less than five miles from here, but I couldn't narrow it down. They were jamming the signal somehow."

"Resourceful," Rossi agreed.

"He knew his father had been arrested," Hotch said. "He didn't sound surprised in the least that someone else had his father's phone or that I knew his name. If he called, it's because he has some sort of plan. And I'm betting it involves the escape of one John Winchester."

"I just can't imagine having to raise a child like that," JJ said. They all looked at her. "He's fourteen years old," she clarified. "He should be worrying about pimples, not breaking his dad out of jail and escaping the demon that murdered his mother."

Prentiss spoke. "I know," she said. "But without people like John Winchester and his boys… I don't want to imagine all of the things that would still be out there. He's raising them as soldiers, but what else could he do knowing what's out there?"

They were all quiet for a moment, thinking about how different things were now that they knew monsters existed. People were capable of great evil, but knowing that true evil was out there was overwhelming, to say the least, and those boys were right in the middle of it.

"When you're raised in that type of environment, you develop a secluded world view," Hotch said. "There is no right or wrong. You simply accept the way the world works."

"It's all they've ever known," Rossi said. "Demonology and Latin to our History and French. Sure they've seen things that would make a grown adult wet their pants—and I count myself in that group, I might add—but I'm sure they've seen some truly great things also. There has to be a balance or else there wouldn't be any Hunters out there."

"I still don't like it," JJ said. "How many other kids out there were raised knowing that the monster under their bed is real? It has to be terrifying."

"Maybe," Reid said. "But they were also raised knowing that monsters can be killed and that their parents were the heroes that _we've_ only about read in stories. Haven't you ever pretended that your father was a knight from a fairy tale? Dean and Sam are the children of a Hunter. They know that dragons are real, but their father is the knight who slays them. He's their hero, but it's more than that. He is who they are going to grow up to become. They are the young knights-in-training. They will be the ones who slay the dragons and save damsels in distress when they're older. They're living a real life fairy tale. It's just not the same one we imagined as children."

JJ nodded conceding the point, but it was obvious she was still affected by it. With Henry at home and demons to contend with, her anxiety was understandable and no one pushed the matter further.


	14. Plan B

It was less than a half hour when Dean walked into the station. The team thought it best that he didn't know Bobby was working with them so he'd gone to check himself in to the nearest hotel until this mess could be resolved. He grumbled a bit about it, but he couldn't argue with their logic. Dean would be furious with Bobby's involvement and the thought that it would ruin him in the Hunting community was enough to get him to leave for a few hours. With Dean coming in, it would only be a matter of time until the case was closed and they were back in Virginia. Well, they hoped that was how things went. With the Winchesters' involvement, things might get worse before they got better.

Dean opened the front door to the precinct and walked up to the front counter. "I'm here to see Aaron Hotchner." He pointed to himself. "Dean Winchester," he said with a smirk.

Hotch was waiting for him.

Before he could move to greet the young teen, Dean turned toward him. Hotch could feel the boy's eyes on him. For a kid, he had a strong presence. He could feel Dean's gaze as it looked him up and down.

"Hotch?" he asked.

Hotch nodded and used that as a segue to approach him. He was smaller than Hotch thought he would be. There weren't any pictures of Dean—or Sam for that matter—that Garcia could pull up so the only images they had of him and his brother were the ones John had in his journal from before the fire. There was no accounting for the young man in front of him. He was small, but he moved like his father, the strength of his limbs palpable with every step, and he kept the same solemn expression on his face. He walked with purpose and talked like he knew what he was talking about. He was an adult in every way but one. Hotch couldn't bring himself to see him as a child, even if he was a foot and a half smaller and two decades younger.

Hotch and Dean shook hands. Hotch spoke. "I assume you're here to see your father."

"I am," Dean said, eyes tightening at the sight of Hotch's necklace. "You mind?" he asked pointing at the piece of jewelry.

"As long as you don't remove it," Hotch said.

Dean thumbed the pendant, flipped it over to see the back, then let it flop back against Hotch's tie. "You know Bobby?" Dean asked.

Hotch knew Dean was testing him. He nodded, "I do."

"Word of advice, Hotch," Dean said. "Hide it," he pointed to the necklace. "And if anyone asks, the answer is always no."

"Asks what?" Hotch wondered.

"Anything really," Dean smirked sadly. "But with that flimsy piece of jewelry being the only thing between you and getting jumped by evil incarnate…" He trailed off with a shrug. "You don't want to flaunt your only hope of survival. And don't _ever _give anyone the chance to take it from you."

Hotch swallowed at the earnestness in his tone. There was a story behind the advice—there was probably a story behind everything Dean Winchester said—but he was pretty sure it wasn't a story he wanted to experience for himself. He took the teen's advice and tucked the pendant into his shirt.

Dean approved.

"Come with me," Hotch said. "Let me introduce me to the team."

"Actually, agent, I would much rather you take me to my father."

"I'm afraid I can't do that," Hotch said, matching his hard gaze.

The smirk reappeared on Dean's face. "I didn't think you would, but it was worth a shot."

Hotch didn't think a small thing like him saying no would have much of an effect on the young Winchester. He knew Dean would have a better plan than just walking into the precinct. His brother wasn't with him, after all, and that had to be for a reason. Where was he? Dean wouldn't leave him alone, would he? No, definitely not. He was the older brother, the protector. When his father was out Hunting, it was _Dean_ who took care of Sam. He wouldn't leave his brother somewhere he couldn't get to quickly.

Hotch led him to the storage room and introduced him to the team. A confused look appeared on his face when Dean caught sight of Garcia on her laptop. "I know you," he said before Hotch could introduce their tech analyst.

"Penelope Garcia," she said, shaking his hand.

"Penelope… Penny!" He smiled widely at her. "You're Bobby's niece." His smile disappeared after a quick moment, giving way to anger. "He thinks you're dead." His voice was hard and unrelenting. He turned away from her with disgust and the introductions continued, though after Garcia, none of the others had a warm reception.

"I don't mean to be a buzz kill," Rossi started, slightly sarcastic. "But what are you doing here, Dean? We figured you'd be a thousand miles away by now."

"You'd really give me that much credit?" Dean asked with a small chuckle.

"Yes," Hotch answered seriously.

Dean's amusement vanished. "You aren't Hunters," he stated.

"No, we're not," Prentiss confirmed.

"But you know Bobby." He couldn't help but send a quick glare to Garcia when he spoke.

Morgan nodded, wincing slightly when he remembered the first time he'd met the man.

Dean caught the movement and Morgan had to work at keeping his posture nonchalant as the kid scrutinized him so openly. Was this what it was like when he profiled someone? Because he didn't like it.

Dean lifted his head slightly and sniffed the air once. "Demon?" he asked. Morgan's answering flinch was enough for him. "I'm sorry," he apologized.

"Is it really that obvious?" Morgan asked wryly.

Dean shook his head. "No, just have a lot of experience." The statement made JJ turn away, but Dean was on her in an instant. "Don't you dare pity me," he told her adamantly. "We live the best way we know how and what I can do—what my family does—is nothing for you to pity. I may be fourteen, but I'm not a kid. I know what kind of life I can have, but I choose this one. If I didn't want to be a Hunter, I'd be long gone by now."

JJ nodded at him, smiling repentantly, and his face softened.

"Good. Now, I'd like to see my dad."

"I told you—" Hotch began.

"Yeah?" Dean interrupted. "And I'm not listening. Here's the deal. I want twenty minutes, alone, no cameras. You can watch from outside the room if you want, I don't care."

"And in exchange?" Reid asked.

Dean smiled at him. "You have a computer that needs decrypting," he said. "Or the journal. Your choice. Then I'll walk out of here and you'll never see me again."

"I'm sorry, kid," Morgan answered. "But even if we did let you see your dad, we couldn't just let you walk out of here."

"Really?" Dean asked. "Even if that meant that my ten year old little brother was out there all alone with no one to keep him safe from the things that go bump in the night? I've been Hunting for three years. I had my first solo kill a month ago. I can keep him safe better than you can, but in order to do that, I need to leave. Besides," Dean said, honestly. "There isn't really any way you can keep me here. I haven't done anything so you can't just throw me in a cell and if you call CPS, I'll run at the first chance I get."

"He's got a point, Hotch," Morgan said.

"I know he does."

Dean's relieved smile made him look like the kid he should be. He was just so young.

"Alright," Hotch told him. "But weapons stay here."

Dean nodded. "Deal."

"All of them."

Dean grimaced, but started disarming. "You better give them back," he said.

When he finished, Prentiss patted him down to make sure he'd surrendered everything. But for a permanent marker, a ballpoint pen, and a flashlight that Dean insisted were necessities, he had. Dean may have been a kid, but he was good on his word. Not a single weapon was found on him.

Reid was skeptical. "You aren't going to perform some type of spell are you?" he asked, curiously.

If anything, Dean looked disgusted. "Yeah right. Like I'd team up with the same thing that killed my mom and sentence myself to the pit for a few magic tricks." Their confusion must have been obvious because Dean's offended look faded away. "You must be new to this whole Hunter thing. See, look. If you wanna be able to cast a spell like the kind you're thinking of, you have to have magic. The only way for a normal person like you and me to get _real_ magic is to make a deal with a demon. The deal is ten years of power in exchange for your soul. Once the time is up or you kick the bucket, your soul is taken down below to be tortured for, like, ever until you're so twisted up inside that you become a demon."

Reid understood why the kid had reacted so vehemently. If he'd been seriously accused of selling his soul, he would have been just as disgusted. He shivered as he realized what Dean had just said. Hell was real. It was one thing to believe in demons. They didn't necessarily have to come from Hell. There were all different sorts of myths and legends that could explain demons. But Hell was an entirely different concept—one Reid couldn't wrap his head around.

"Hell?" JJ questioned, her face pale.

"Yep," Dean said. "You know, The Pit? Lake of Fire? Down Below? H-E-Double Hockey Sticks? Hell?"

"So," Rossi was hesitant. "If Hell is real, what about Heaven?"

Dean looked as if he'd just asked if the kid believed in Santa. "No clue. Demons, I believe. Angels… not so much. I've never met one, at least. That isn't to say it's not out there, but if it is…" Dean just shrugged. He didn't know how to finish the sentence. The adults all looked a little lost until he spoke again. "Who cares if it's real? We're all gonna die anyway and I don't have time for this. Where's my dad?"

As Morgan led him to the interrogation room, he noticed Dean's fidgeting. Every few seconds, the kid would fix his jacket or shirt or run his hands through his hair. "You alright, kid?" Morgan asked.

"Uncomfortable," he answered.

"Because of the Heaven and Hell talk?"

"No. Just feel naked," Dean said much to Morgan's confusion.

"Why, kid? No reason to feel that way," he said.

"The Winchesters had a pretty big rep even before my dad started Hunting _after my_ _mom was killed_. There isn't a monster out there that _isn't_ gunning for us and I don't even have my knife. So _excuse me_, agent, but there's plenty of reason for me to be uncomfortable," he snapped.

The door to the interrogation room opened and Dean walked inside, closing the door in Morgan's face. Dean didn't understand how someone could be so stupid.

John looked up from the table, surprised that it wasn't one of the feds in the room with him, but his eldest son. "Dean?" he asked, instantly suspicious.

"Dad," Dean said. "_Christo_." When his father didn't react, Dean tossed him the sharpened silver coin he kept in his jacket pocket. It was small enough that the female agent hadn't felt it.

John knew the drill. He took the coin and swiped it across the back of his hand, drawing a small line of blood in the process. It was also his chance to examine the coin to make sure it was, in fact, silver. It was. He flicked the coin back to his son, who repeated the process.

Dean was smart, though, not to rely on the silver alone. He pulled out the small flashlight and, after shining it into his own eyes, flashed it back and forth between Johns, making sure they didn't flash iridescently. They didn't.

"You hate peas," Dean said, "unless they're still in the pods."

"You don't have a middle name," John said.

Dean smiled and hugged his dad. John held him tightly and only pulled away when the realization of where they were hit him.

"Sammy?" he asked worriedly.

Dean winced, knowing how his dad would react to the news. "He's not with me."

"What?!"

"Don't worry. He's bunkered down," Dean said.

"And you thought it was just fine to leave him there?! He's ten years old, Dean! You're supposed to be looking out for him!"

"I am looking out for him!" Dean yelled back. He couldn't ever remember yelling at his father and John's surprise was obvious. "What? Did you think I would just leave him there without protection? Come on, Dad. I'm not stupid, you know."

"I know," John said.

"Whatever," Dean said, trying to shrug it off.

It was obvious to John that his son had more that he wanted to say, but he didn't have time to pry. "Why are you here, Dean?" John asked instead.

"Well, I was hoping to bust you out, but since you have 'Supervisory Special Agent Aaron Hotchner' and his rag-tag team of profilers, that's probably not gonna happen. So, I had to go with Plan B." Dean put the silver coin on the table along with the ballpoint pen. He hoped it was enough. "You always said you should get those protection sigils tattooed on. Now's your chance." At John's skepticism, he added, "I'm not gonna be able to get you out of here and you're safe for now, but they're gonna move you soon. When they do that, you won't even be able to take some table salt with you. How do you expect to make it even twenty-four hours?"

John grimaced. "Just don't mess up," he said, grabbing the outstretched permanent marker from his son. Dean took off his undershirt to use as a towel as his father drew the elaborate runes on his left arm for Dean to trace over with the silver coin. It stung, but he was glad his son was doing it instead of him. It would have taken too long and the cuts wouldn't have been as smooth. There was blood, but not much of it. Dean only needed to break through the first few layers of skin. Any deeper than that and the ink wouldn't take, he knew—not that he'd done this before. It was all pretty much guess work.

While Dean worked on his arm, John took to copying the sigil onto a piece of paper. Sam and Dean would need it if he couldn't get out of this mess.

Every few minutes, Dean would wipe the blood off of John's arm with his undershirt and rub the ink from the ballpoint into the cuts. It was a painstaking process, but fifteen minutes later, John had a new tattoo. Even if the ink didn't set like they both hoped it would, the scars should so the trick.

When Dean finished, he bundled the pens up in his now-soiled undershirt and slipped the sigil into his pocket with the coin. He hugged his dad long and tight because who knew when he was going to see him next?

John returned the hug and leaned down closer to Dean's ear when he remembered watching his boys on the security feeds. "What's her name?" John asked, so low even Dean barely made out the words.

"Lisa," Dean barely breathed. "You'd like her. She's… family."

John smiled and released his son. "I'm proud of you, Dean. And tell Sammy I love him."

"Yes, sir," Dean said, tucking the bundle under his arm. He had tears in his eyes, but he'd let the world end before he let them fall. He walked out of the interrogation room without another word, not even so much as a glance at the man who raised him.


	15. Family Rituals

The team watched with curiosity at the short ritual the father and son performed. It was obvious to them that it was one they'd practiced many times. They didn't understand really until Reid started his commentary.

"_Christo_ is the Latin word for Christ," he said. "He's invoking Christ to repel evil like Bobby did with Morgan. What is that?" he asked when Dean pulled a coin from his pocket and flicked it to his father. "It doesn't look like any form of currency used in the US."

"It's a challenge coin," Morgan said. "I have a few in my office, carry one around with me even. Silver isn't very common, though."

"Can you make out the emblem?" Prentiss asked.

"I can," Reid said. "It looks like… two crossed rifles?"

Hotch chuckled softly, startling his teammates. "Winchester," he clarified.

"Family crest?" Rossi asked.

"Most likely," Hotch replied.

They couldn't see what John did with the coin, but they were relieved when he tossed it back to Dean. A coin probably couldn't be used to aid in his escape, but they didn't want to take chances with a man like John Winchester.

"What is he doing?!" Morgan asked, shocked at Dean sliding the coin just above the top part of his wrist until it drew blood. He hadn't even realized it was sharp enough to cut.

Hotch began moving toward the door, ready to pull Dean out immediately. He had no problem allowing Dean to speak with his father, but he drew the line at self-harm.

"Wait, Hotch," Reid said with a hand on Hotch's arm. "I think you should leave them," he said, much to the incredulity of the entire team.

"What? Why?" Morgan asked angrily.

"According to mythology, like salt, silver in its pure form is unable to cut the flesh of the impure without a severe reaction. Look at the small scars on Dean's lower arm," he said. "This is a ritual of theirs. They need to make sure they are who they claim to be."

"Who else could he be, Reid?" Hotch asked. "Winchester can obviously recognize his own son."

"Yes, but you heard what Bobby said. There are a lot of things out there, Hotch. Not just demons, but _monsters_. What do you want to bet that there are shape-shifters or doppelgangers out there too?"

Hotch let his hand drop from the doorknob, but his mouth pressed into a firm line. He could see Reid's point, but he didn't have to like it.

In the room, Dean pulled out the small flashlight and shined it into his eyes. Other than his pupils constricting, nothing happened. The boy shined the light into his father's eyes, switching back and forth between them until he was satisfied.

"You hate peas," Dean said, "unless they're still in the pods."

"You don't have a middle name," John said.

The relief was noticeable in the way the father and son hugged. With Winchester in custody and probably going to prison, it was the only time Dean would have for a while.

They were all confused, even Reid, at how the last few sentences had caused such a sudden shift in behavior until Hotch clarified. "It's something only the other would know," he said.

"Another way to prove their identity," Rossi agreed.

The team watched the argument that exploded with trepidation. Winchester looked like he was seconds away from striking his son, but Dean didn't look worried so the team kept their distance. It was a near thing though. Less than a minute later, Winchester's anger deflated along with Dean's.

JJ winced when the coin cut rapidly into the flesh of John's arm and a shiver crawled down Hotch's spine when Dean began to rub the ink into the wounds. They all realized the necessity of the objects Dean had chosen, but having to watch while the fourteen year old gave his father a makeshift tattoo made them all a little queasy.

"Do you think he knew?" Prentiss asked. "That he couldn't break his father out? He had a lot of weapons with him, but he isn't stupid enough to use them in the middle of a police station, and he didn't have anything else on him that could be used in a jailbreak. Do you think this was his plan all along?"

"I think it was backup. The coin was hidden well enough that we didn't catch it in the search," Rossi said. "I'd be willing to bet he has a few lock picks and such hidden on him right now. Underestimating that boy would be a mistake."

"I believe it," Morgan said, chuckling. "Did you see the arsenal the kid had on him?"

"Three knives, two guns—a sawed off shotgun and a handgun—brass knuckles, a small crowbar, a lighter, extra salt rounds for the shotgun, and two small daggers hidden in his boots," Reid listed. "Not to mention the small first aid kit, the lighter, salt, and a myriad of other items. He definitely came prepared for anything."

Morgan filled the short pause with something Dean had told him earlier. "He told me that the Winchesters had a reputation in the Hunting community, even before John started to get serious about it. Dean seems to think that everything out there is specifically gunning for them."

"Well," Prentiss responded. "With how persistent that demon is trying to get at those boys, I'd say he's probably right. The way Bobby talks about him, Winchester's taken out a little of everything and it's got to be making them angry."

It was a chilling prospect.

Ten minutes later, Dean finished cutting the tattoo into his father's skin. They both stood and hugged, trading a few words that were too low for the team to hear. Dean's face was red and hard, but if there were tears in his eyes as he walked away, the team ignored them. They wouldn't treat him like a kid. With everything he'd been through, he deserved more respect than that from the FBI agents. None of them was proud of the fact that Child Protective Services had been called almost as soon as Dean had entered the room and a social worker was on her way.

But they agents were all relieved to know that Dean would be back on the run with his brother soon—because, despite what they wanted to believe, Dean was right. He could protect himself and his brother much better than the FBI could, even if they had an idea what they were really up against.


	16. Motivations

Dean threw the bundle into the first trash can he saw, just outside the interrogation room. The whole team was there, sans Garcia, waiting for him.

"You ok, kid?" Rossi asked. "Seems like things got a little heavy in there for a minute."

"Just peachy," Dean said, rolling his eyes. "So am I gonna have to wait for someone from CPS to get here or can I go?"

Prentiss grimaced. "A social worker is on her way," she said.

Dean sighed. It would be another couple of hours before he could get to Sammy and Lisa. "Well," he said. "We have some time. And I have something to decode. Have you decided whether you want the laptop, or the journal?"

"The journal," Hotch said. "We could use the insight. We aren't very familiar with the Hunting world, as you may have noticed."

_You think?_ his expression said, but when he spoke, it was in a serious tone. "Make a copy of the journal. I want to take it with me when I leave," he said. "You aren't the only ones who need the help. If you have any questions, though, now's the time to ask. I'll answer them as best I can."

Hotch nodded and JJ left immediately to help Garcia scan it to her laptop. After they saw the reaction Dean had had to Penelope, they'd convinced her to stay in the storage room instead of listening in on Dean and his father. He still wondered what had warranted such a strong reaction from the young man. Hotch decided to go with his gut and asked. Dean hadn't clarified what type of questions he'd answer after all.

"You weren't there," Dean answered slowly, looking down at his hands. "Bobby's always been a drinker, same as most Hunters I've met, except maybe Pastor Jim. But… There was this Hunt up north—a shape-shifter, I think—like two years ago. It was too dangerous for me and Sammy to go so Dad, he dropped us off with Bobby. We were there for a while, maybe two weeks." Dean rubbed his hand through his hair and sighed. "We talk to the families a lot. Of people who die, I mean. We talk to kids who watch their parents get eaten by monsters and people who's husbands and wives and _families_ are killed by stuff they didn't even know existed. I knew a few Hunters, good ones too, who died fighting…" He trailed off for a second, his eyes going unfocused. But when he looked at Hotch, his face was hard. "With your job, you know what it's like to be surrounded by death all the time," he said.

Hotch _did_ know, at least a little bit, about what Dean was talking about. Maybe more. By now, the whole team was listening to the conversation. Even so, Dean continued speaking directly to Hotch.

"It was bad, Hotch. Bobby's fine. Like all the time, I mean. He calls everyone an ijit, and he gets mad sometimes—I mean, who doesn't?—but he's, like, _good_." Dean paused until the silence stretched into the uncomfortable. "He was so loud, I was surprised Sammy slept through it. When I went downstairs, it was like a tornado went through the place. There were books thrown everywhere. Well, there are always books everywhere, but they weren't in piles or up against the walls like they normally are. They were upside down and all over the floor. Some of them were even torn up. Bobby was just up and throwing things around the house. There was glass on the floor and a few empty bottles of who-knows-what on his desk."

Hotch had seen a glimpse of that anger when Bobby had talked to Garcia on the phone. He could imagine how deep it went for the man. His best friend and his wife died and then their daughter, who he was supposed to protect, went missing? He couldn't imagine being put in that situation.

Dean couldn't stand Hotch's gaze. He looked away, toward the storage room where he could see JJ leaning over the table from the small window. "I got him to calm down enough to talk to me and… There's no good reason for it, Hotch. With everything I've seen, all the horrible ways to die, there's nothing worse than not knowing. Bobby had to put her to rest without even the comfort of a Hunter's funeral. It's been, what? Almost ten years? And she's been here the whole time. She was alive and happy with her friends and her job at the _FBI_," he said the name with scorn. "I didn't know her and I don't need to know her. I don't _want_ to know her."

Dean's voice quieted as he continued. "I used to think I'd do anything to bring my mom back. I've even thought of making a Deal," he confessed. "To think that there are people out there who let their _family_ think they're dead? Family's supposed to be the one thing you have left even after you lose everything else."

Dean's expression turned angry at something he saw.

Hotch followed his line of sight to see Garcia standing in the doorway of the storage room. The yellow sundress and extravagant makeup seemed out of place with the conversation they were having.

"We're done scanning the journal," Garcia said in a small voice, startled at the hostility she was receiving from the young man.

"We'll be in there in a moment, Penelope. We're just finishing up a conversation," Rossi told her.

She nodded and rejoined JJ.

"I've never told anyone that story," Dean said, the anger still on his face even after she was gone. "I don't even know if Bobby remembers it, he was so far gone. Monsters I can deal with. I understand them—vampires, ghosts, werewolves, shape-shifters, changelings, ghouls, fairies, hellhounds, even _demons_, I get. People…" he trailed off.

"Sometimes people can't see what they have right in front of them," Hotch said.

"That is the worst excuse on the planet." Dean smirked at him, his anger gone.

Hotch smiled.

"Enough with the heavy stuff," Dean said. "I have a journal to help translate and a laptop to collect, not to mention a new car."

"You're fourteen," Morgan said. "What are you going to do with a car?"

"I'll have it towed to a friend's until I'm old enough to drive it," he said reasonably.

"You mean until you _look_ old enough to drive it?" Prentiss asked ruefully.

Dean chuckled and smirked at her. "I will neither confirm nor deny, Agent Prentiss."


	17. Ash

Dean finished attaching the shotgun to the small clip around his waist and closed his jacket to cover the sheath and gun tucked into his belt.

"I understand everything else," Morgan said. "The shotgun and salt rounds, the handgun with silver and iron bullets, the crowbar—I get it. But what's with the brass knuckles, man? Seriously."

Dean just chuckled and pulled the said weapon out from the inside pocket of his jacket. "They aren't brass. They're salt encrusted, blessed, _iron_ knuckles inlaid with silver and etched Enochian runes," Dean corrected him.

Now that Morgan had a better look at them, he could see the thin lines of silver curve into symbols similar to the ones in the Devil's Traps. The detail and intricacy amazed Morgan and even though they were supposed to be encrusted with salt, the weapon was smooth to the touch. The detailing must have cost a small fortune.

"Took forever to make, I'll tell you that much," Dean said.

"You made those?" Rossi asked, eyebrows skyrocketing.

"Yeah," Dean shrugged nonchalantly, but they could see he was proud of them.

"Nice work, kid," Morgan praised.

Dean took the weapon from the agent and placed it back into his pocket, making sure they didn't show through his jacket. They didn't. "Thanks," Dean said. "And thanks for letting me keep 'em."

"We can't let you go out unarmed," Prentiss said. "You're in bigger danger without them than with them. Plus, I have no doubt that you could shoot circles around even Hotch."

Everyone laughed.

"I'd be offended if I didn't think it was true," Hotch said, chuckling.

Dean's smile vanished when a loud ping came from his left. After a few seconds, another ping sounded and continued in a steady rhythm. "Where's my dad's laptop?" he asked seriously.

The abrupt change in behavior had the entire team on edge. "Here," Garcia handed him the bulky silver computer.

It said a lot about the urgency of the situation that he didn't dismiss her with anything more than a thankful nod. He opened the screen and his fingers flew across the keyboard as he quickly hacked into his father's files. Dean opened a tracking program and cursed at whatever he saw.

"You guys have any rock salt?" he asked.

"What's wrong, Dean?" Hotch asked.

"Big Bad Wolf is on his way and unfortunately for us piggies, the wolf can blow the house down faster than we can say 'not on the hair of our chinny chin chins.' Anyone here know an exorcism or two?" he asked, not really expecting anything.

"I do," Reid said.

Dean was surprised, but he didn't look up from his screen. His fingers continued typing. Reid thought he might even be able to keep pace with Garcia. "What kind?" Dean asked him.

Reid blanched. "It's in Latin," he offered.

Dean sighed. "Can you say the first few lines?"

He nodded. "_Exorcizamus te omnis immundus spiritus, omnis satanica potestas_…"

"Alright, that's fine. Japanese ones work best for the higher-level demons, but Latin based spells are all-purpose. It'll do for what's on the way."

"Spell?!" Reid panicked, remembering the previous conversation.

"Just a general term in this case, but it's more of an incantation really. You don't need magic to perform an exorcism. It's all about tapping into the demons' weaknesses and using their own power to separate them from their meat suits. Do it right, and they're sent right back into The Pit where they belong. Yes!" Dean exclaimed abruptly.

"What?" Hotch asked him.

A face appeared on the screen. He was young—not as young as the Winchester boys, but in his late teens certainly. He was sporting a mullet—about a decade or two late—and wore a nearly identical plaid shirt as Dean, though, unlike Dean, his sleeves had been cut off. He looked hungover. His eyes were bloodshot, his shirt was wrinkled, and from the way he squinted at the screen, he had a massive headache.

"Hey there, little man," the man said. "Can't really talk right now," he burped. "Kinda busy."

"Hangover can wait, Ash," Dean said.

Immediately, the man's eyes were more aware and the team could hear the clicking of his fingers on his keyboard. "Where are you?"

"Pearce County," Dean said.

"Washington? Nebraska?"

"Arizona."

Ash typed for a few more seconds. "Shit. There's something headed your way, kid."

"How bad?" Dean asked, closing his eyes and sighing in defeat. He was steeling himself to the possibility that he wouldn't make it out of this alive. Sammy would know what to do if he didn't make it back. The team's hearts flew out the kid at the same time their own sense of self-preservation kicked in. Prentiss grabbed the bag of rock salt they had sitting in the corner while Reid worked on blessing the thirty-two pack of water they'd brought just in case.

"Looks like five, maybe six? Something's weird on the scanners. One's pretty powerful," he said.

"Yellow-Eyes?" Dean asked quietly.

"Looks like," Ash confirmed. "Bobby's in the area. Want me to send him your way?"

"No," Dean said, surprising the team. "Keep him as far away as possible, Ash. I don't care what you have to do. As far as I'm concerned, he's the only one Yellow-Eyes won't hesitate to kill. Sam's safe for now. Dad's cloaked. Cops are in the middle of it, but it's not after them. As long as I can get out of the station before the train hits, they should be fine." After a slight hesitation, he asked in a small voice, "Just how screwed am I?"

"Pretty screwed, little man. But," Ash added. "I think I can help a little with that. Check your email."

Dean opened the browser and did as the man asked. Then, he smiled. "Ash, my man. You are a genius."

"You can't place your one-dimensional labels on me, man," he said, good-naturedly. "Genius is just a term made up to sort people into categories for corporate consumption."

Dean just rolled his eyes.

"Good luck. I'll let Ellen know to get a room ready for you in case you make it out. John's not in the wind anymore and I'm guessin you'll need a place to crash for a while. I try to get Bobby outta there if I can, but I can't really help much from here."

"Don't worry about it, man," Dean said, shrugging. "Just, uh… If I don't make it…" his voice broke. "Make sure I get a Hunter's funeral," he said. "Last thing I want's to… you know."

"Will do, Dean. You want me to send Ellen and Will?"

Dean just shook his head. "Won't get here in time."

Ash nodded and the screen with his face disappeared.

"Hunter's funeral?" Reid asked.

"We salt and burn our dead," Dean answered, his head hung in defeat. "Nothing's worse than the thought of turning into the same things you Hunt, not even dying." Dean looked at the FBI team around him and realized that this was all the backup he was going to get. "Are you in or are you out?" he asked them. "I could use the help, but I don't _need_ it," he lied.

Hotch looked around the room, checking wordlessly with his teammates before answering. From the looks of it, they were all in agreement. "If you want our help, you have it." They didn't know what they were going up against and it might be a suicide mission, but none of them were willing to leave the kid to handle it alone.

Dean nodded, relieved.

"Do you have a plan?" Rossi asked.

Dean's smile was mischievous. "Yeah," he said. "But you're not gonna like it. You, the mom," Dean pointed at the blonde agent.

"JJ," she said.

"Yeah, JJ, I need you and Hotch to fortify this room. Take your time with the Devil's Traps. The lines have to be exact or they won't work. Don't, under any circumstances, break the salt lines. Here," he tossed her his dad's cell phone. "Any problems, call speed dial number one and put it on speaker. It'll play an exorcism on a loop. I've never used it, but it's the best I can do if you get into serious trouble."

JJ nodded, thankful for the phone. "How'd you know I was a mom?" she asked as Dean picked up the duffel bag he'd filled just ten minutes ago with weapons from the Impala.

"Just 'cause I don't have one, doesn't mean I don't know what one looks like. You and Hotch have people to live for," he said, sadly. "So stay out of the way. I don't want you getting hurt."

"So… what?" Morgan asked, smiling so Dean would know he was joking. "Prentiss and I can get hurt, and it's all good?"

"Pretty much," Dean said, smiling back. "Brains can stick with brains, but the muscle's coming with me." He pointed to Morgan and Prentiss.

"Since when am I the muscle?" Prentiss asked.

"Have you seen yourself in the mirror?" Dean asked. "I know the type. You could probably kick more ass than Ellen, and that's saying something."

Prentiss smiled at the thought. She didn't know who Ellen was, but anyone Dean held in high esteem must be better than good.

"What about us?" Reid said, indicating to him and Rossi.

"You drink?" Dean asked Reid. "Smoke?"

Reid shook his head.

"Promiscuous sex?"

Reid blushed, but said, "no."

"So, pretty much, you're innocent?"

"Pretty much," Morgan said, chuckling.

"Good. You're probably the one with the thickest skin against possession so they won't even try. They shouldn't know you're protected. And being as young as you are, the demons will just write you off as a grunt instead of a real member of the FBI. That makes you the go-between."

Reid didn't like the way Dean said it. "Go-between?"

"Yep. You get to tell the demons where we are. Hotch and JJ and Rossi are gonna stay in the storage room where they'll be safe. Morgan, Prentiss, and I are gonna work the front lines. You get to stand at the front desk and tell anyone who asks where we are."

"Which is?"

"Dunno yet." Dean thought. "Where's the nearest diner? I'm starving."


	18. Apple Pie

The diner wasn't too crowded when they entered. There was a young couple in a booth, eating burgers. A man in a business suit was reading a newspaper and nursing a cup of coffee at the counter. There was no one else in the restaurant. Dean wasn't surprised. In a small town like this, it was common for there only to be a few customers. The lunch crowd was long gone and it was still an hour or two before the dinner crowd showed. Dean led them to the table in the corner of the room that gave a good view of the exits. There were three that Dean counted, but there was probably another through the kitchen.

"Can I start you off with something? Drinks? Appetizers?" the waitress asked. She was a diner veteran, Dean could tell, even if she was young enough to get carded at a bar.

"I'll take a coke. And I'm ready to order if you're ready to take it," Dean said, smiling largely at her.

"Go ahead, sweet thing," she said, smiling back.

"I'd like the special with fries and a slice of apple pie, please."

"Got it. And you two?" She asked the agents.

"I think I'll have the same," Prentiss said.

"Ditto."

"Alright, three specials, sides of fries, cokes, and pie. Anything else I can get you?"

"Oh," Dean said as if he'd forgotten. "Can we get some water, please? I'm kind of thirsty."

"Will do, hon." With a wink, she left.

When she was gone, Dean's smile dropped a notch at Prentiss' wry expression. "What?" he asked her.

"You had that woman eating out of the palm of your hand," she said. "She barely even noticed we were here and we're the ones with the badges."

"And?" he asked.

She just rolled her eyes. "Heaven help all women when he gets older," she said to herself.

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Reid didn't handle down time very well. Normally, that was a good thing. He was always busy with something. Unfortunately, with the others preparing for the worst, Reid didn't have anything to do but wait for someone to show up—_if_ they showed up—asking for the eldest Winchester boy. Until then, all he was able to do was sit and twiddle his thumbs. His books were at the hotel and any paperwork he still needed to finish was on his desk in Quantico.

He settled for compartmentalizing the new information he'd attained thanks to Bobby and Dean. He sorted through effective weapons, spells, exorcisms, and just how different supernatural creatures were from their mythological counterparts—and in which respects they were similar. It was a lot to go through and Reid was glad. He could keep himself occupied for a while just sorting through what he knew.

A small hand touched his arm and Reid jumped, startled. His eyes had been closed and he hadn't even noticed.

A petite woman around his age stood in front of him. Her eyes were a pale blue color and Reid noticed that, sitting down, he didn't have to peer very far up into them. He was used to people being shorter than him, if not smaller, but she was uncharacteristically short, barely floating on the five foot mark if he gauged correctly. She smiled at him, showing a line of perfectly white teeth, and tucked a stray brown hair behind her ear.

"Excuse me?" she said. "I'm looking for SSA Aaron Hotchner. I'm a social worker from Child Protective Services."

Reid blanched. He'd forgotten about calling CPS—they all had. "Um, uh," he sputtered, startled, his voice going up an octave. "Hotch –Hotchner isn't here. He was called away. I am –I'm Spencer Reid. From the FBI."

"Oh," her smile dissipated. "Well, I'm here about…" she rifled through her purse and pulled out a small notebook. "Dean Winchester."

Reid panicked. Dean said that if _anyone_ came looking for him to send them to the diner. But the woman in front of him looked nothing like Morgan had when he was possessed. It was obvious right from the start what he was—and he hadn't even believed in demons then. He couldn't send this woman to the diner where she could be caught in the middle of whatever the demons had planned. He prepared himself to lie to her again when he caught scent of something off. It was just a quick inhalation of breath and the tang was so mild that, if he'd chosen to, Reid could have convinced himself that he'd imagined it. Sulfur.

"He, um. Well, he hadn't eaten in a while," Reid said, saying his lines as convincingly as possible. "And he was getting restless so –so he followed a couple of our agents to a nearby diner. I could get you the address… if you'd like," he added.

"If you don't mind, that would be perfect," She smiled and touched his shoulder.

Now that Reid was paying more attention to her, he could see that her movements were slightly stiff and her eyes were tight, scrutinizing. This was something that was used to lying and was good at it. Reid procured the address and handed it off to the possessed social worker, who then thanked him profusely before bounding out the front doors in a hurry.

As soon as the demon was out of sight, it shed the body it had been wearing in favor of one closer to its target.

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Their order arrived in less than ten minutes. The two agents stared at Dean as he tore into his burger and fries without trepidation. Neither of them were the slightest bit hungry with what they suspected was coming. Apparently, Dean didn't have that problem. They watched as he swiped one of his fries through a small puddle of ketchup and stuck it in his mouth. He stopped chewing when he realized them staring. "You're not gonna eat?" he asked, swallowing.

"I'm not very hungry," Prentiss said, grimacing at even the thought of eating. As good as the food looked, she didn't think it would taste so good a second time.

"What? Don't like the idea of a burger and some fries as your last meal?" Dean joked.

With the present circumstances, neither Morgan nor Prentiss found his humor even the slightest bit amusing.

"And you do?" Morgan asked.

Dean shrugged. "Every meal's a last meal and I'm not too picky. I just hope I get to finish my pie before the demons crash the party. But somehow, with my luck, I don't think I'll even get a bite of it."

Dean was wrong about that. He'd taken exactly one bite of the apple pie when the faint smell of sulfur hit his nose, erasing his appetite.

The waitress returned with a small tray of dirty dishes in her hand. "Anything else I can do for you?" she asked, sweetly.

"Yeah," Dean said, leveling his gaze at her. "How about you cut the crap and tell me what the hell you want?"

Morgan and Prentiss were shocked speechless at Dean's audacity.

The waitress just smiled and dropped the tray, showing off her neon yellow eyes.


	19. The Demon with the Yellow Eyes

Dean wasn't the least bit surprised that Yellow-Eyes was standing in front of him. He'd always known this day would come, but he'd hoped that by the time it did, he would have a way to kill the damn thing. Unfortunately, even with his rage boiling over the edge to mask his terror, all he had were a few exorcisms that might buy him enough time to skip town with his brother.

"Don't look so frightened, my boy," Yellow-Eyes said, mockingly.

Dean scowled. "You gonna answer my question or not? 'Cause if not, I have pie to get back to." Dean picked up his fork and dug into his pie with over-exaggerated gusto. When the bite hit his tongue, it held all the enjoyment of ingesting cardboard.

Yellow-Eyes' rage showed instantly on the waitress's face. The demon reached out and grabbed Dean by the collar of the shirt and held him against the wall by his throat. "You might want to watch that tone with me, Winchester," it growled.

Morgan and Prentiss leaped into action. The female agent grabbed two of the glasses of newly-blessed holy water and flung them at the demon. Morgan grabbed his handcuffs and was able to fit one tightly around the demon's wrist before they were both sent flying across the room.

Yellow-Eyes just chuckled at them. "That may work on my children," it said. "But a little water won't hurt something like me. I doubt anything you have will work in your favor."

Dean just smirked at him before lashing out with a kick aimed at the demon's shoulder. He silently apologized to the waitress who surely felt every bit of pain the demon didn't. But Dean didn't need the demon to feel pain. He just needed to move its arm enough to drop him. It worked.

Dean fell to the floor and scurried quickly out of reach of the demon. He stood back smirking. His throat was sore from where he'd been held, but it was nothing he couldn't handle. He'd had worse.

Yellow-Eyes turned around slowly and popped the dislocated shoulder back into its socket. Dean knew it wouldn't set right like that, but the demon wouldn't care. It didn't feel pain the same way humans did. It was part of the reason they felt like they were superior.

The demon smiled and tried to walk toward Dean, but it was as if it hit a wall. Dean's smirk grew more pronounced when the demon discovered the small Devil's Trap drawn on the ground with permanent marker. Dean could hear Morgan's low moan of pain and hoped the man was alright. He didn't hear anything from Prentiss, but he assumed Morgan would take care of her once he was up and functioning. Dean was busy with the thing that killed his mother.

"Gotcha," Dean said, laughing darkly.

Yellow-Eyes fumed for a moment before breaking into a smile. The demon raised its hand, trying to build up enough force with his power to break through the circle beneath him.

"Won't work," Dean said, toying with him now.

Yellow-Eyes looked confused for a half-second before realization appeared on its face. It was the handcuff hanging from its left wrist. The demon peered more closely at the cuff and noticed the messily carved sigils. Unlike the Devil's Trap, these runes didn't need to be as precise to have an effect. Still, the demon wasn't going to be this easily bested… not even by a Winchester. "You didn't think I'd come alone, did you?" It purred.

Just then, a demon wearing the businessman they'd seen earlier grabbed Dean from behind. "Of course not," Dean scoffed, flipping the lower-level demon onto its back and quickly pulling his container of salt from his coat. He poured it in a haphazard circle around the demon, trapping it effectively. He unclipped the shotgun from his belt, not wanting to waste any more time. The teenage couple enjoying their meal not ten minutes before, came at him. Dean let loose two shots straight into both of their chests. The force of the blows coupled with the purity of the salt rounds flung them backward into the counter. Dean reloaded quickly, feeling the ache in his shoulder from the kick of the shotgun. He ignored it, calling out to the two FBI agents with him. "Morgan, Prentiss. You guys alright?"

"Just peachy," came the reply as Prentiss rolled her neck to shake herself awake. Getting knocked out after being thrown across a room was possibly… well, not the worst thing that could happen to her. But it was definitely in the top ten.

"Morgan?" Dean asked, letting loose another shot when the boyfriend recovered. The rock salt wouldn't kill the people whose bodies they possessed, but it would hurt like hell. Dean knew from experience.

"'M fine," Morgan mumbled, sucking in a quick breath when he moved his now-injured shoulder. He massaged his throbbing neck with his good hand and winced when he pulled it back and saw blood. There wasn't enough of it to really worry him, but that fact that he couldn't feel it probably wasn't good.

"Good. Stay that way," Dean said. "Prentiss, cover me." He shot another round at the emerging possessed chef before reloading the gun again and tossing it to the agent. His back covered for the moment, Dean uncapped a small container and poured the clear liquid from it onto the floor. From his jacket pocket, he pulled a Zippo and lit it. He dropped the lighter onto the fluid he'd just poured. It caught fire immediately and seconds later, the sprinkler system did its job and let loose a torrent of water.

The four lower-level demons screamed and writhed as the water Dean had blessed before they entered the diner struck their skin. Loudly, so his voice would carry to any demons in the vicinity, Dean repeated the all-purpose exorcism, happy when the demons were forced out of their meat suits. He didn't know what he'd have done if it hadn't worked; his Japanese was terrible and he only had that particular exorcism half-memorized. Demonic smoke filled the diner for half a second before sinking into the floor, presumably returning to the fiery pits of Hell.

Yellow-Eyes snarled during the exorcism, but stayed put. The handcuffs kept him attached to the body he was in. Dean was glad the agents had come with him. He wasn't sure he could have done this on his own. Hell, his plan had almost fallen apart at the discovery that the yellow-eyed demon wasn't affected by holy water. Only a split-second kick had given him the leverage he'd needed to get away. If anything, it was them who'd done most of the work.

Dean smiled in the face of the monster that'd killed his mother. "I want to make a deal," he said.

The demon glared at him, but said nothing.

"You're going to give me a vial full of your blood and, in return, I will send you back to Hell where you belong," Dean bargained.

"Why would I even think about taking a deal like that?" Yellow-Eyes asked, his voice low and threatening. "This trap won't last forever. I can have more demons here in a matter of minutes and if you come anywhere near me, I'll snap your neck in two. You have no way to kill me. They way I see it, I'm the one with an advantage here." The smile he gave Dean was wolfish.

Dean returned the expression in spades. Prentiss fired a salt round at the demon. It was flung back to the edge of the trap, but it couldn't move past it. Dean took the opportunity to grab the female agent's set of handcuffs and place himself at the demon's right side. When Prentiss fired a second shot, stunning the demon further, Dean moved in and slipped the second cuff over its left wrist.

"Actually," Dean said. "I think we're the ones with an advantage here. Those cuffs you're wearing? They don't just trap you inside that body of yours or even take away some of your powers. They take away everything. Well, almost everything. You still can't die, but I can make you wish you had. They can only be removed by the ones who put them on you so none of your cronies even has a chance of freeing you. Unless you make a deal with me, Yellow-Eyes, you don't have a snowball's chance in Hell of keeping your following—or your power."

"Azazel," the demon spat.

"What?" Dean questioned.

"My name. Is Azazel."

"I don't give two shits about your name," Dean spat. "Are you going to deal or not?"

"What are the terms of the agreement?" Azazel asked, spitefully.

"Simple. In exchange for a vial of your blood, Morgan and I will release your cuffs and exorcize you to Hell. All without a fight from you. We get protection. You get to live. It's a fair trade."

"You know how a deal is made?" the demon asked.

Dean nodded. "So we have one?"

Azazel's face contorted into a sneer, but he said, "yes."

Without hesitation, Dean stepped forward—making sure not to block Prentiss' shot should she need to take one—and kissed the demon who murdered his mother on the lips.


	20. The End

"The lips?!" Rossi asked, incredulously.

Dean blushed, but his gaze stayed firmly planted on the older agent. "Standard procedure," he said.

Ash had been good on his word, Hotch noticed. Bobby was long gone, on his way to a Hunt on the west coast. He'd called just a few minutes after Dean's conversation with Ash to say that he was leaving and he'd be in touch. The whole team was now gathered at the hotel, following the events in the diner. Since the case was pretty much closed, they didn't feel the need to take up any more room at the precinct. Garcia was there with them, but she stayed in the shadows even though Dean seemed to be content with just ignoring her. He didn't glare at her anymore, but that didn't mean he'd warmed to their tech analyst.

"Why the lips?" Reid wondered.

Dean shrugged. "Don't know. There's a reason for it, but I'm not sure what it is. Just know that's how it's done. Once the deal is sealed, if either of us goes back on it there are, like, huge consequences. If I hadn't exorcised Yellow-Eyes, I'd die and go straight to Hell and if Yellow-Eyes didn't give me its blood, it would probably be stripped of its powers."

"Sealed with a kiss!" Prentiss and JJ giggled hysterically.

"Yeah, yeah," Dean said. "Laugh it up."

They did.

Dean didn't stay long. After everything that had happened, he needed to be with Sammy. Plus, there was Lisa to talk to. He wasn't sure, but with his dad going to prison, he and Sam were going to be on the run. Lisa would probably be better off going back to live with her foster parents.

"What did you need the blood for?" Morgan asked.

Dean smiled. Ash had helped in more ways than one. "Here," he said, handing a cardboard box to Hotch. He opened it and pulled out a small twine-bound leather sack.

"Hex bags?" Garcia asked.

"Yep."

"But this is witch magic!" She exclaimed.

"Sure is," Dean said, smiling.

Reid was horrified. "You didn't…"

"Of course not. I needed Azazel's blood for _something_," Dean said. "This is it." He pointed to the bags they held in their hands. "They're for protection, kind of like the sigil my dad had tattooed on his arm. They're more powerful because of the demon blood, though. These will work on any higher-level demons."

"What do they do?" JJ asked. "And how do we use them?"

"They make it so that demons can't find you, even if they're looking specifically _for you_. The hex bags won't do much good if they're standing right in front of you, but they can't use any of their Jedi mind tricks to find out where you are. Just stick them in your house—four of them, one in the north, south, east, and west corners. It'll keep the whole house and anyone in it under the radar, even when they're outside. There's extra in there for the office. They won't keep the whole building secure, I don't think, unless it's a small one, but it should work for a few floors at least."

There was a round of thanks and a large hug from JJ. Her anxiety over Henry went down about ten notches with the hex bags in front of her. Suddenly, she couldn't get home fast enough.

"One last thing," Dean said, handing a small piece of paper to Hotch. "My cell number, " Dean told him. "I know you won't, but I'm warning you anyway: try to trace this number or give it to someone who can't be trusted and you'll never hear from me or anyone in the Hunting community again. Got it?"

"Of course," Hotch said, taking the piece of paper.

"You probably already know how to get into contact with Bobby and he's the best with passing information, but if you have any questions that he can't answer or you have a _problem_," he pointedly emphasized the word, "just give me a call. If I can't come and lend a hand, either Bobby or me can put you into contact with someone who can."

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Dean almost felt bad for skipping out on the team in the middle of their celebration. They'd been nice and all, but he had to get back to Sam… and Lisa. Hotch—or maybe it was just someone from the police department, he couldn't be sure—tried to put a tail on him, but he knew enough about being followed to drop it. Even so, he wandered for a few blocks, making sure, before turning to his target destination: the library. It was large enough to have a lot of people in it and quiet enough that Sam and Lisa could keep to themselves. Plus, two kids wouldn't look out of place alone in a library. Besides, Sam loved to read and the books would keep him busy for hours. Dean just hoped Lisa wasn't too bored.

Instead of going inside, Dean walked over to the payphones and slipped two quarters inside. He dialed the number of their new cell phone, letting it ring once before hanging up. The quarters were returned to him. He waited a moment before putting the quarters back and dialing again. Sam answered on the first ring.

"Dean?" he asked.

"Yep. I'm outside, Sammy."

"Is Dad with you?"

"No." He didn't elaborate. "Meet me in front so we can get the hell out of dodge. I'll tell you everything when we settle in for the night," he said.

The line went dead.

It was only a minute later that Dean saw them. He'd forgotten about the hair dye, so he didn't recognize Sam at first. He waved them over to where he was, duffle bag slung behind him. It was filled to the brim with stuff Dean thought they would need—clothes, food, weapons of course, and some money. It wouldn't be enough to keep them forever, but a few weeks at least.

Both Sam and Lisa took off running in his direction. They threw their arms around him at nearly the same time. Dean had trouble keeping his balance with both of them pressed up against him and the weight of the duffel bag behind him.

"You were gone a while," Sam said. "We were getting worried."

"You should know better than to worry about me, Sammy." He smiled down at the kid.

"Dad?" Sam asked.

"It's just gonna be us for a while, Sammy." Sam knew what that meant. Dean turned to Lisa. "I know we promised you a dad, but will the two of us do instead? We'll still be on the road a lot and there's a lot of stuff we have to teach you if you want to come with us, but we want you to be a part of our family."

Lisa didn't have to think about it this time. She just snuggled into him, happy that for the first time in a long time, she felt safe. "Of course," she told him.


	21. Epilogue: Three Months Later

_Three Months Later_

"Are you sure they're alright, Bobby? You know how much I worry about them," JJ said, speaking through her cell phone to the older man. Bobby was back home in Sioux Falls and he kept in touch with the FBI team of profilers.

"Yeah, I know," Bobby chuckled. It was the same conversation every time. "But you should relax a bit. Those ijits will keep just fine. They've been staying with Ellen at the Roadhouse. Have a room right next to Ash. Lisa's been bunking with Jo. I think she likes having a family of her own now, even if it is a bunch of Hunters."

JJ laughed, happy to hear that Lisa was doing well. It had been a painstaking process, even with the team's connections, to get the adoption pushed through. Ellen and Will had another daughter now and JJ was glad that they all seemed to be getting along. "Are the boys there now?" she asked.

"Sam is," Bobby told her. "Dean's in Georgia with Will, hunting a skinwalker. They should be back sometime before school starts."

"They're going to school?" JJ asked, surprised.

"Yep," Bobby said proudly. "Sam tested into the seventh grade so he's skipping a few levels. Dean's about average so they aren't behind like I thought they would be. Besides never being enrolled in an actual school before, both boys seem prepared so I'm not worried. Dean's anxious about not being able to take his car, though. He can't get his permit for another six months, but I told him I'd drive the Impala up there for his birthday so he can work on it."

"That's amazing, Bobby. Tell them I said hi."

"I will," he affirmed. "How's John doing? I couldn't be there for the trial, but since I haven't heard from him, I'm guessing he was found guilty?"

JJ sighed. "Yeah. Twenty-five to life at a medium security penitentiary," she said. "It could have been worse—they wanted him in SuperMax—but since Cate's testimony wasn't too incriminating and we were able to get the murder charges dropped, they gave him the option of parole. With a huge amount of luck, he'll be out before Dean turns thirty."

"With the Winchester luck, I don't think that's going to happen," Bobby said sadly.

JJ knew that Bobby was probably right, but she still liked to hold on to the hope. "Do Dean or Sam want to see him? I know you guys can't bring them, but I don't mind taking them in myself if they want to talk with their father. It's the least I could do."

"I don't know," Bobby told her honestly. "I'll talk to Dean when he gets back from his Hunt and let you know."

JJ watched as the team arrived in the bullpen. Now that she knew what was out there, she'd been flagging cases here and there that were Hunter related. She passed them along to Bobby in the last few minutes of their conversation and with a hastily said goodbye and a promise to talk again soon, she grabbed the topmost file of the large stack on her desk and walked to Hotch's office, ready to present their next case.

End.

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_Trash it, kill it, compliment it, praise it, love it, hate it, all-of-the-above it, but bookmark it and review it. I thrive on criticism so don't be afraid to tell me how you really feel :) I love hearing from you. This is the end. If there was ever a time to comment, it's now. So let me know what you think._

_I am currently working on a sequel to "Bloodline." When I'm closer to finishing, I'll start posting again. Hopefully that's within the next couple of weeks, but don't hold me to it :) Read on!_


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